


Reeling in the years

by akuchan_47



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-04
Updated: 2010-11-04
Packaged: 2017-10-13 01:45:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/131442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/akuchan_47/pseuds/akuchan_47
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This story, told in a series of flashbacks, is an AU in which Bones is a classically trained pianist and Jim is a New York punk. Despite their apparent differences they mesh together seamlessly. Over the span of a fourteen hour ordeal Jim recalls the good times and bad of the last 20 years.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reeling in the years

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Explicit drug use, minor character death by euthanasia, infidelity, mentions of sex

1997  
Jim Kirk nodded to his friends and took his seat – ten rows back, centre stage – just as a spotlight focused on the concert grand on the left side of the stage. A man dressed in formal black tails and matching bow tie (white shirt of course, only in Jim's fantasies is he bare-chested, coatless too) walked across the stage, nodded once to the audience, and then took his place at the piano. The hum of audience's collective murmur had ceased as soon as the man had walked out; the silence that filled the auditorium in its place was electric with anticipation. The man, Leonard H. McCoy to the world at large, Bones to Jim— _his_ Bones—sat perfectly still; his hands hovered over the keyboard. He wasn't freaking out, he was just picturing the music, letting it play out in his head before he touched the keys. It's not like ten minutes ago, when he _was_ having a meltdown, and Jim had been afraid that there might be vomiting.

Bones had the worst bouts of stage fright of anyone that Jim had ever known, and he'd seen more than his fair share over the years. Never experienced it himself, didn't really understand it, he lived to be on stage in front of a crowd, but not Bones. He was more than happy with the direction his career had taken, which had turned him into a very in demand composer for movie soundtracks. Every few years he'd put out a new recording of his own, just to keep his record label happy. And he never did promotional tours – his guest performance with the New York Philharmonic was his first public concert in years, and it had been sold out for months. Lucky for his career there was something romantic about reclusive, eccentric musicians who didn't want to perform for their fans. They were forgiven by those same fans who bought up everything that Leonard McCoy produced. Loyal to a fault they were. And who wouldn't be? Bones' music was pure genius, a gift from the heavens. Jim could wax poetic on it all night long. In his mind at least; out loud, he's never missed an opportunity to let Bones know that his taste in music was the stuff old men were made of. Likewise Bones never held back his opinion of Jim's two-chords-and-three-note style of playing. It's kibitzing they've been doing close to twenty years, and it was as much a part of their relationship as the lovemaking, and the occasional knock 'em down and drag 'em out was.

The first note of "Moonlight sonata" that Bones played brought Jim out of his thoughts just so he could get lost in the place where only his partner's playing could take him. He floated there – the world narrowed down to the music that filled his senses – and time seemed to stand still. It didn't matter that he'd heard this particular set taken apart, each movement gone over meticulously for weeks as Bones perfected imagined imperfections. Listening to the music now, with Bones playing so freely and passionately, was like hearing it for the first time.

And then it was over before it had really started. Jim was on his feet, applauding wildly while the orchestra put the last flourishes to Beethoven's Emperor Concerto. Jim ignored the disapproving looks that were sent his way. He may have been nothing more than a cheap punk in these people's eyes, but his audiences knew how to show their appreciation, damn it, not like these dinosaurs whose bones might break if they tried to exert themselves. He could almost hear Bones sigh in exasperation for him to sit down already, and stop making a spectacle of himself – even though he was sure there'd be an embarrassed grin tugging at the corner of Bones' mouth. The one that Jim loved so much, that made Bones look like a little boy, even though he was on the other side of forty.

Jim's group waited for the hall to clear out before they made their way backstage. They were all old friends. There were his band mates, Hikaru Sulu, who he'd known since grade school, and Montgomery Scott, since middle school. Then there was his lawyer/manager (Bones' too) Spock and his wife Nyota Uhura. They had boarded at Jim's mother's house when they'd been in college and had been married close to seventeen years. Pavel Chekov had come on the scene much later, but when he did, he'd stolen Sulu's heart and they'd been together for years too.

By the time they got near Bones' dressing room there was a crowd of people already there to make their congratulations. It was some time before they were able to elbow their way through and when they finally did, Bones was grouchy from all the fawning that people did.

"Bout time you got here," he grumbled, but didn't complain when Jim grabbed him in a bear hug and laid a congratulatory kiss on his lips.

"Yeah, well it's worse than rush hour traffic in those halls," Jim commented.

"You were wonderful as always, Leonard," Nyota pushed Jim out of the way so that she could offer her own congratulations, which led to the rest of the group adding theirs. Meantime Jim managed to hustle anyone who wasn't considered part of their family out of the room and closed the door on a few disgruntled people.

"Too bad, they can wait until the reception to tell you how awesome you are."

"I'd rather just go home."

"Of course you would, Bones, but you ignore your adoring public most of the time as it is, just give them a little taste tonight then you can go back to being a hermit."

Bones looked horribly put out, but he didn't say anything else as he shucked off his coat and pulled his tie loose. "And that's the cue for you guys to get out of here, can't have my lover getting naked in front of ya'll," Jim joked as he pushed Nyota towards door.

"Make sure that all he does is change, eh laddie." Scotty affected the exaggerated Scottish brogue of his father on his way out. He'd been twelve years old when his parents had immigrated and his own accent had faded over years, but he could call it up easily when he wanted. "We'll be timin' ye."

"Yeah, yeah, we'll catch up with you at the reception," Jim said as he shut the door on them, and then turned to Bones with a predatory look.

"Jim," Bones warned.

"You know what watching you play does to me, Bones," Jim said as he undid the buttons on his lover's shirt. "The way your fingers move across the keyboard, reminds me of the way they feel when you're touching me." He kissed Bones' collar bone and worked his way down his chest as he popped each button. "So soft and teasing when you start out, and then so strong and sure and in command when you're finishing up, I had a hard-on from the first note." Needless to say it was much longer than the ten minutes that it should have been before the two of them finally emerged, both looking a bit more tousled than they had before. Bones was now wearing a charcoal coloured suit with a white shirt, and a dark striped tie. Jim's suit was a bit more rumpled than it had been earlier.

They exited the building through the back, where a limousine was waiting to drive them the few blocks to Lespinasse at the St. Regis.

"So that went pretty well, don't you think?" Bones commented, as he made himself comfortable and took Jim's hand in his. "Except when I dropped a note in the middle of 'Moonlight sonata.'"

"Yeah well if you did, you're the only one who noticed," Jim said and leaned over to kiss him gently on the lips. "I don't think you need to worry about that screaming from the headlines tomorrow morning. You blew them all away, and I'm not saying that because I'm biased. It's true. Just enjoy all the lauding for tonight, you've earned it."

"I suppose so," Bones conceded as he returned Jim's kiss.

Jim sighed and squeezed his hand. Bones would never be comfortable with his celebrity. He played piano because it was as vital to him as breathing was, but performing in front of large audiences was something that he could gladly do without.

When they arrived, there were only ten or so people milling about outside, and half of those were their friends so at least they wouldn't be impeded on their way inside. Bones got out of the limo first, with Jim following right behind him. As soon as he did, Jim heard someone shout something that sounded like _you fucking fags should all die_ , then gunshots rang out and Bones grunted. Without thinking, Jim threw him to the ground and laid his body across his as a shield. The shooting didn't last long, and when he realized that it had stopped, Jim looked around cautiously to see what was happening.

Spock and Scotty had a man — whom Jim assumed was the gunman — pinned to the ground. He was fighting to get free and, though he was giving them a run for their money, they were able to keep him restrained. Jim was halfway to getting up to kick some ass when Bones moaned from below him. When he looked at Bones, Jim's heart clenched in horror. There was blood on the pavement, seeping out from underneath him. "Shit, Bones! Fuck! Somebody call an ambulance," he cried out before he cautiously rolled Bones over to see what the damage was.

"Hurts, Jim," Bones murmured quietly, grasping his hand. It didn't look good to Jim. Bones had been hit in the chest area and there was a lot of blood. Jim had never felt so impotent in his life. The ensuing minutes passed by in a blur, and yet seemed to take forever. He held tight to Bones' hand, and softly reassured him that he'd be all right – that help was on the way. Suddenly the air was filled with sirens and Jim was pushed out of the way as the paramedics got to work on Bones. Then there were police cars everywhere, and the gunman was put in cuffs and led away. A couple of officers attempted to contain the scene. Chekov and Sulu came over to lend their support to Jim.

When he tried to climb into the back of the ambulance with Bones and was told that he wasn't allowed, Jim started to get belligerent with one of the attendants.

"It's okay, Jim." Sulu grabbed his arm, "we'll take you. Which hospital are you taking him to?" He asked the same attendant, and armed with that information, began to steer Jim toward his car. They were stopped by an officer who wanted to take their statements. Jim was annoyed by the delay, and ready to get into an argument with the police as well, but once again Sulu cut in, and Jim realized that the more cooperative he was, the faster he'd get to Bones.

Soon, but not soon enough for Jim's tastes, they were on their way. The minute they pulled up to the hospital's emergency doors, he hopped out of the car and ran in before Sulu had put it into park. As soon as he walked through the door, he ran to a desk where a lot of official-looking people were.

"Yeah, I'm looking for my partner; I was told he was brought here. He's been shot," he said to the first person whose attention he could grab.

"His name?" The nurse — a blonde woman, with the name of Chapel on her badge — asked Jim.

"McCoy, Leonard McCoy, he was just brought in," Jim answered, running his hands through his hair.

She sucked in her breath in recognition at the mention of Bones' name, before becoming the modicum of professionalism. "They're working on stabilizing him right now," she said, then led him over to a chair to sit. "You can fill out these forms while you wait." He hadn't had time to respond, before she shoved some papers on a clipboard at him. "We'll also need a next kin."

"That'd be me," Jim answered automatically. He was only vaguely aware that she was about to say something when Sulu and Chekov came rushing toward him.

"Any news?" Chekov asked as they approached.

"No, nothing yet, they're working on stabilizing him," Jim said. He'd hit some pretty nasty lows in his life, but this right here was without a doubt the worst. He stared at the door to the room where Bones was, willing someone to come out and update him. It didn't work, so he went into the nearest bathroom to clean himself up. The sooner he got Bones' blood off him the better. There wasn't much that he could about what was on his shirt, he dabbed at it with a cold wet paper towel as best he could, and got the worst of if. Once that was done he went back to keep his vigil outside the room that Bones was in and then filled out the forms that were left for him. That at least kept his mind occupied for a short a while.

"Jim?" He jumped when he felt a soft hand on his arm and nearly lost what little composure he had when Nyota wrapped him in a hug.

"Where's Spock and Scotty?" he asked when he pulled away and noticed that she was by herself.

"They're still with the police, they might be a while. I wanted to get here as fast as I could."

At that moment a doctor came out and asked to speak to Jim. Bones had been shot in the chest, he reported. They had gotten the bullet out but he was going to need extensive surgery to repair the damage that had been done. They were moving him up to the surgical floor.

Jim's breath caught in his throat when Bones was wheeled out. There were tubes everywhere and he looked so pale. "Can I go up with him?" he asked. His voice sounded weak and so small to him.

The doctor nodded and Jim followed the gurney onto the elevator. His friends said that they'd follow him up.

When they reached the surgical floor, Bones was whisked away from him again and once more he was left to sit and wait. He was soon joined by Nyota, Chekov, and Sulu.

"I have to believe that he's going to make it," Jim said quietly. The other three murmured in agreement and then sat down in the chairs provided in the waiting room. They were the only people around, for which Jim was exceedingly grateful.

The minutes ticked by, and the silence was enough to make him want to rip out his hair. He paced up and down the hallway a few times and then sat down beside Nyota. To keep his mind off of what was happening in the present, Jim thought back to the time that he'd met Bones. That first day he knew him as Lenny. He found it hard to believe that it was close to twenty years. They'd been so young then.

 ** _1978_**

Jim rounded the corner onto his street, and then picked up his pace when he caught sight of a tall blonde girl with legs that went on forever drop a cardboard box on his front porch and then head back to the only car on the street with its trunk popped. He had a tough time deciding which was more beautiful, the girl, or the car, which was a 1973 robin's egg blue Cougar XR-7 convertible with a white top. That was the last year they'd made that model, and this one looked to be in pristine condition. As he approached, he was already working on ways to get his hands on both of them.

He'd forgotten it was moving day, since they only had one new boarder this year. Spock, a law student from Columbia, and Nyota Uhura, a dancer enrolled at Julliard, had been with them for two years already and they were both back for a third. When he was a little kid, he'd always looked forward to this day, when the boarders for the year would start to arrive. It had been exciting then, having a house full of students. Even though they lived far out in Inwood at the northern tip of Manhattan, most of their students came from the Julliard School where his mother was a dance instructor. The fact that their house was less than a five-minute walk to the subway, and that there was an express train that could get you to the heart of Manhattan in thirty minutes or so, meant that occasionally they'd get the odd student from other colleges as well.  
He'd loved the energy that had been in the house from having such a variety of talented and intelligent people around. Now, at best, he viewed them as an invasion of his privacy, and at worst, they were a pain in his ass. He got along well enough with Spock and Nyota, but they were the living manifestation of his mother's disappointment at what he could have been doing with his life and wasn't. He was quite content with how things were at the moment, which was no end of conflict between them. He was working toward his true goals, living his dream – so what if his classrooms were dive bars and third rate clubs? He was making a name for himself on the local music scene and he knew it was just a matter of time before he would be at the top of the heap; he didn't need to waste his time in a dusty classroom learning theory. On top of that, he had a day job as a mechanic in training, and since he'd always liked to tinker with machines, it was good as day jobs went.

Having a looker like this one living in his house for the school year didn't change his feelings on the matter all that much, but she just might provide a pleasant distraction. At the moment he was getting a nice view of her ass as she was bent over to reach into the trunk for something. Though she had a terrific figure, he didn't peg her to be a dancer, since the litheness that often ventured into too scrawny territory was missing. So perhaps she wasn't a student at Julliard, or not a dancer at least. Maybe she was a musician or an actress. Musician, he confirmed in his mind when he reached the car and, looking into the trunk, saw a case that most likely contained a keyboard.

"Here, let me get that for you." He grinned when she jumped back in surprise, and her boobs bounced quite nicely—man he loved halter tops. What could he say, he was eighteen and he appreciated the niceties of the female body, not to mention he was a walking, talking hormone.

"Oh don't touch that! Lenny freaks if anyone but him touches his keyboard," she exclaimed, smacking his hand away from the case. Then she crossed her arms under her chest, pushing her boobs up higher and making the view all that more enjoyable. She levelled an appraising glare at him. "Who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Jim Kirk, I live there." He grinned and pointed to his house. He noted a definite twang to her accent. "You're from the south?"

"Oh, you're Winona's boy?" Her tone became friendlier, and her gaze turned appreciative when it became apparent that he wasn't out to rob her. "I'm Jocelyn Darnell, and yes, I'm from Georgia. We both are, Savannah to be precise."

Jim nodded. "So, you and this Lenny are moving in?" He was surprised that his mother would let a couple that wasn't married (unless they were married, but she wasn't wearing a ring) move in together. She was rather old fashioned and it was as if the sexual revolution had missed her entirely. Not that he was the slightest bit discouraged that there was a boyfriend to work around—he knew from experience that when a girl was eyeing him up the way she was presently, prior commitments were small obstacles.

"No, just me," answered a decidedly masculine voice, with less twang and more of a honey-coated drawl.

"You Lenny?" Jim asked, turning his attention the guy who had snuck up on him and Jocelyn while they'd been checking each other out. The boyfriend was easy on the eyes too, in a scruffy, could care less sort of way. His dark hair was shoulder length, had a bit of a wave to it, and hung in his eyes. The faded jeans and black t-shirt he wore bespoke of someone who really didn't give that much thought to his appearance. Unlike his girlfriend, who definitely knew how to play up her best assets.

"The name's McCoy, Leonard McCoy. Len will do." He cast a glance over Jim, which was packed with annoyance – like he knew Jim had been hitting on his girlfriend. Then he reached into the trunk and pulled out a wooden milk crate packed full of LPs and shoved them into Jim's arms. "Here you can take these up, since you're so eager to help."

"Sure thing, Lenny, and I'm Jim Kirk by the way." Jim smirked when Len... Lenny... scowled. This guy might be a lot of fun to have around after all. If first impressions were anything to go by, it didn't seem to take much to get him riled up, and he looked ridiculously cute with the down turned pout of his mouth and the lines that creased his forehead.

"Except for your keyboard, that's it for your stuff," Jocelyn said as she took a suitcase out of the trunk, interrupting anything else Jim might have said to get under Lenny's skin. Lenny grabbed the keyboard and shut the trunk.

"What's its name?" Jim asked in all seriousness.

"Whose name?" Lenny asked, sounding perplexed.

"Your keyboard, what do you call it?"

"Uh... keyboard?"

"Seriously, you don't have a name for it?" You must not love it very much." Jim was all manners of offended for the poor instrument.

"I like it just fine, it serves it purpose." The look on Lenny's face turned wistful and almost sad. "My piano is too big to haul all over the damn country."

"Yeah? What's _its_ name?"

Lenny mumbled something under his breath, and Jim thought that the pink that crawled up his neck was downright cute.

"What was that, I didn't quite hear you?"

"Baby," Lenny spat out, "I call the damn thing 'Baby.'"

"Ahhh... because it's your baby? That's so sweet," Jim practically cooed.

"Because it's a baby grand." The _idiot_ wasn't spoken aloud but it was heavily implied.

"That's not at all creative, you might as well call it, 'It.'" Jim was back to feeling offended again, as he led their procession of three back to his house.

"Yeah? And what do you think would be an appropriate name?"

"Oh I don't know, how about after your favourite composer, or a favourite piece of music or something." Jim's guitar was called Marilyn and she was a beauty—a Fender Stratocaster—what with her blonde wood neck and candy apple red body, but before he could extol the virtues of her loveliness, Lenny pushed past him, stomped up the front steps and into the house.

"So Jocelyn, where're you headed to, if you're not staying here?" he asked, turning his attention back to her as they followed Lenny in. He'd seen that there were still suitcases and boxes in the trunk.

"Harvard, I'm in my second year of med school, and if you haven't guessed already, Lenny is starting the graduate program at Julliard," Jocelyn positively bubbled with an enthusiasm that Jim found to be very contagious.

"So what, when you're done the two of you going to head back to Georgia to be a country doctor and her school teacher husband?" Jim teased her.

"Oh hell no," Lenny protested, from halfway up the staircase. "No way that I'm spending my life teaching scales to ..."

"Hardly," Jocelyn laughed and cut Lenny off mid-rant. "Lenny's too much of a genius to be stuck in Savannah for the rest of his life. He's going to be famous one day, you'll see."

"That so? Just so happens that I play guitar and I'm the lead singer in my own band, if you're interested in jamming sometime."

Lenny made a noise that sounded very much like a pig's snort, and though Jim couldn't see his face, he guessed that it conveyed his disdain. "Don't tell me, you know three notes and two chords, and scream like a banshee."

"Three and three is more like it," he grinned. "And I'm told that I have the voice of angel."

"I got news for you kid, that ain't music." Lenny snorted again and stomped into his room, but Jim didn't miss the amusement that tinged the edges of that statement.

"Jeez, Lenny, you sound like my grandpa." Jim followed him into the room beside his – it would be Lenny's for the year – dropped the crate of LPs on his bed and then rifled through the collection. It was mainly classical with a smattering of jazz; nothing that would be considered modern by any stretch of the imagination. "Have much the same music collection as him, too."

"At least your granddad has taste."

"Had, he's dead. But before he was dead, he was old, and that, Lenny, my man, is my point," Jim turned and clapped him on the shoulder, "you're an old man in a young man's body."

"And you can make this declaration after knowing me for all of five minutes? And it's Len," he reminded Jim as he brushed away Jim's hand.

"Yeah man, I can. You can tell a lot about a person by their music collection, and this here says old man."

"No, it's a reflection of my good taste. I bet if I were to go look at yours, I'd see nothing but all that rock music those crazy kids are listenin' to these days." Jim couldn't help but crack up at the waver in Lenny's voice - he did a great imitation of an old codger.

"Oh Lenny, with statements like that, you're only proving his point," Jocelyn pointed out. She seemed peeved that she was no longer the centre of attention.

"She's right, you know," Jim said, trying to regain control. "And you might just be surprised, Lenny, but I don't have time at the moment to prove it to you, gotta get cleaned up. I got places to go and people to see." He winked at Jocelyn as he left Lenny's room.

**** 

Once Jim was showered and had the day's grease cleaned off, he changed into a pair of jeans that were clean but on the ratty side with frayed hems, thread-bare in spots, and ripped at the knees. He slipped on a Stars and Stripes t-shirt that had its sleeves and collar torn off, was ripped at the shoulders and pieced back together with safety pins. That shirt had been the source of many arguments with his mom—she thought it was disrespectful, if not downright treasonous. His mother was prone to hysterics sometimes. There wasn't much that he could do with his short cropped hair other than mess it up a bit. He sat down at his desk, rolled five joints, put them in the Baggie with his loose weed, and then returned that to his guitar case, which he then closed up and took with him as he headed out for the night.

Jocelyn and Lenny came out of the kitchen and were headed to the front door at the same time that Jim got to the bottom of the stairs. "So you kids takin' in the big city? Be careful it's really scary out there," he warned, only half-joking.

"We're just going to Mario's for a late dinner, your mother recommended it." Jocelyn's smile was frozen in place as she gave him the once over. Lenny, he noticed just frowned, and Jim was starting to think of that as his default expression. On most people it would have detracted from their looks, but for some odd reason, on Lenny it was cute, for lack of a better word. "Then we might take in a movie, depending on what's playing. We can't be too late because I have to leave early in the morning."

"Mario's is good, they have great pizza," Jim said as they left the house and walked up the street together. "Listen, if you don't like what's on at the movies, my band's playing tonight; you could come by and check us out." Lenny snorted at the mention of Jim's band again, but Jocelyn interjected before he could say anything that would lead to him and Jim bickering about music and who had better taste again.

"Wouldn't all the scary, dangerous people you just warned us about, be there?" she teased, seeming to get over her surprise of a few moments earlier.

"Nah, we just look scary, but we're pretty harmless, well maybe not quite so harmless." His band was, but as for some of the other people who frequented the clubs he played at, that was another matter entirely. Jim had to admit he thought it might be kind of fun to see them way out of their comfort zone, so he pressed harder for them to come out. "We're a ways out here, but the club's pretty easy to get to on the train — if you decide you want a sample of the big, bad city, that is." He gave them the directions and then left them at Mario's while he continued to the subway station.

****

 

They'd just finished their first set, and the band, Genius Repeat Offenders – shortened to GROpe, (GRO was stupid so they added the –'pe') — which included Jim on lead guitar and vocals, their drummer, Montgomery Scott, called Scotty, and Hikaru Sulu on bass — along with a couple of girls – were on the street outside the club enjoying the fresh air and sharing a joint or two before their next set. Jim had his arm around Mandy's... Brandy's... – something like that, ended with 'andy,' he knew that much—waist and was copping a feel of her lovely ass. In between the running commentary on how they did—bitchin'—and how the crowd reacted—bloody awesome, and there were more people than the last time — Jim moved _andy against the wall of the club and was conducting a thorough tongue examination of her tonsils. He figured he might have enough time to haul her into the alley or one of the stalls in the men's room for a quickie before they were due back on stage—yeah, he was classy like that. Still the girls around here didn't complain, and there was always one or more who was willing to take care of him before, between, and/or after a set. Unfortunately someone had the gall to interrupt his immediate plans and as soon as he heard the voice he knew he wouldn't be getting any mid-set action.

"Why don't you get a room, or at least move it into a bathroom stall," the now familiar drawl of one Lenny McCoy filtered past Jim's horniness and his ability to block out his surroundings.

"Funny, I was just thinking the same thing, Lenny my man," Jim replied, ignoring the oft-repeated "it's Len." He reluctantly peeled himself off _andy and turned toward the interrupting couple - he had invited them out after all, he reminded himself. Jocelyn was looking at him with a fair bit of heat in her eyes which shocked the hell out of him. He'd figured that by now her Southern sensibilities would have been completely offended; boy was he way off base there. He was surer than ever at that moment, that had she been sticking around, he'd have had her in the sack by the end of week, which made him feel kind of bad for Lenny. He'd only known the guy a couple of hours, but he seemed decent enough, and Jim was warming to him considerably.

"Hey guys, this is Lenny, he's rooming at my house this year, and Jocelyn. Sadly, she's not." He winked in her direction which earned him a scowl from Lenny and a shrewd, knowing look from her. "That's Hikaru Sulu, he plays bass, and that's Montgomery Scott, Scotty, our drummer," he waved his hands toward his band mates, "and this here is … _andy," he introduced the girl he'd been making out with, "sorry, I didn't catch your name," he said to her friend.

"Hey Lenny, Jocelyn." Sulu nodded in their general direction and held out the joint to them in greeting.

"Ya know with prolonged use, this stuff'll make your testicles shrivel up and cause men to grow breasts," he said, as he took the proffered joint from Sulu. "Thanks, and it's Len, not Lenny," he glared at Jim.

"Yeah, says who?" Jim asked laughing. He had to admit he was surprised when Lenny took the joint without batting an eyelash, despite his commentary on the evils of cannabis.

"My Daddy, that's who, and he's doctor," Lenny was definitely teasing, but Jim did detect the pride that the man instilled in his son.

"Yeah well, maybe your Daddy is..."

"Watch it, that's my..."

"Give me that, you're hogging," Jocelyn butt in and snatched the joint out of Lenny's hand.

After that everyone loosened up and there was some more general chit chat about where Len and Jocelyn were going to school and what they were taking. Once it was learned that Lenny was a musician as well, the suggestion came that he should jam with them sometime soon. Lenny still brushed them off, but he was way more polite to Sulu and Scotty than he had been to Jim earlier. By the time they went back in to start their next set, Scotty and Lenny were having a serious debate about which was better, a good single malt scotch, or fine Kentucky bourbon. Their friendship seemed to be solidifying - lushes the pair of them.

The club itself wasn't much more than a neighbourhood bar and grill. It was owned by the sister of a friend of a cousin of Scotty's who was trying to turn it into something more and who let them play there on a fairly regular basis (read when they couldn't get a gig anywhere else). They were starting to pull a regular crowd, and Jim hoped that it wouldn't be long before he could leave places like this one behind him, but for the moment they could at least work out some of the kinks and get tighter as a band.

Their first song was from the Ramones, and Jim made a point of watching Lenny's reaction, which was pleasantly surprised, if Jim were to judge by the look on his face. Jim felt more satisfaction at that than should have mattered; he felt vindicated, and he hadn't even heard Lenny play yet so he had no idea whether he had something to prove or not. Sure, the music he played might be simple in comparison to what was in Lenny's music collection, but Jim was good – damned good – could have gone to Julliard himself if he'd wanted to, it just wasn't his thing. The set flew by and Jim was on fire. He was showing off, and he brought the band along with him. It was without a doubt one of their best nights as a whole. They finished far too soon for Jim's liking, but still half an hour after they were supposed to stop. He joined Jocelyn and Lenny at their table as soon as they finished.

"So what did ya think?" He couldn't believe that he held his breath while he waited for Lenny's verdict.

"Well you didn't suck, and you're enthusiastic if nothing else." Lenny's eyes were teasing as he said that. "I'd say your voice is more like a demon than an angel, though," he commented as he tipped back the last of his draft.

"Ah thanks, Lenny, I'm flattered." He really was too; Jim knew instinctively that coming from Lenny that was high praise indeed. For the life of him he didn't have a clue why it mattered so much, but it did, and it went far deeper than his normal need of validation.

"Oh, don't listen to him, you were fantastic," Jocelyn gushed, smacking Lenny's arm. "Even though it's not typically my kind of music, you're fun to watch."

"Yeah, it was a great set tonight," Jim said. "Hey listen, I have to pack up, shouldn't take too long, if you want to wait."

Besides making sure that Marilyn was all comfy and safe for the trip home and left in the care of Jocelyn and Lenny—and putting the rest of their equipment into Scotty's van – packing up included the quickie with _andy in the bathroom that he'd been denied earlier. He was on such a high from that last set that he'd needed to work off some of that excess energy, especially since he was heading straight home. Jim noticed, but didn't pay heed to the fact that she expected there to be something after the sex. There never was. He might walk a girl to her subway station if she was headed in the same direction as him, but _andy wasn't, and when they'd gone into the bathroom, her friend was still at the bar so he'd left her in the stall with her pants around her ankles.

He bounded over to the table Lenny and Jocelyn were still sitting at. "You guys ready to go?" he asked as he picked up Marilyn.

"Yeah, Joce has to get going early and we're already out later than we planned to be," Lenny said and stood up. His demeanor went suddenly cold and a look of disapproval settled on his face. Jim could tell by the trajectory of his gaze that _andy had come out of the bathroom. Jim may have felt a little guilty when he turned and saw how upset she looked, but not enough to actually go over to her. He never promised anything. In fact, he'd told her at the start of the evening that he'd be going home alone – he always made that perfectly clear – and if she wanted to feel hurt and used now, well that was her problem, not his. There was no reason that he should feel shamed just because Lenny didn't approve.

"Come on, let's go," Jim said a little more harshly than he meant to, and then left the bar with Lenny and Jocelyn following behind him. They shared one more joint on their trip home.

****

Lying in bed listening to the rhythmic sounds of what was most definitely fooling around, Jim wondered if he should have mentioned that despite appearances, the walls in the house were paper thin and you could hear just about everything through them. Not that he wasn't enjoying himself; oh he was, quite a bit in fact. Seemed that Jocelyn was a talker, and she had a filthy mouth on her, too. Jim ignored the voice in his head that said that it was a shame that Lenny wasn't more vocal, what with that rumble that he had going on.

"Oh Lenny, give me your big bone," Jocelyn giggled.

Jim shoved his fist in his mouth fast to muffle his burst of laughter.

"Jesus, Joce... you're never getting high again..."

It sure sounded like Lenny was laughing too, though that didn't seem to stop him from his current activities.

"It's so big, feels so good. Love your bone, Lenny," she giggled some more, then moaned quietly. Jim imagined that Lenny was kissing the daylights out of her to keep her quiet, while he gave her his big bone. There was no talking after that, just the sounds of heavy breathing, the creak of the bed, and low moans and grunts.

Jim stuck his hands into his underwear, wrapped his hand around his cock and, if in his mind it was Lenny who was talking dirty to him, well it was his mind and nobody's business but his own what went on in there.

Jocelyn started to get louder again, no words this time, for which Jim was thankful; he knew he wouldn't be able to contain himself if she started talking about Lenny's big bone again. In fact he had to stifle more laughter just thinking about it. Luckily the sounds she made as she came - and he was quite sure that she wasn't faking it - got him back on track, but as hot as that was, it was the low growl, and the picture of Lenny with his hair stuck to his forehead as he rutted into Jocelyn that really set Jim off, and two seconds after Lenny muttered "Oh god, yes," Jim jerked himself to his climax.

****

When Jim walked into the kitchen around noon the next day, Lenny was sitting at the kitchen table eating a sandwich; nobody else was around. _The Times_ was spread out in front of him, and his coffee was set to the side. He looked forlorn, which Jim assumed had something to with the absence of Jocelyn.

"Mornin' Bones." Jim smirked at Lenny, who from then on would always be Bones to Jim, when he snapped his head up and glared at Jim. "Jocelyn get out all right?"

"Yes she did, later than she'd planned, and what the hell did you just call me?"

"Bones. I figured that "Big Bone" might be too obnoxious, "BB" and just "Bone" sounded stupid, so Bones it is," Jim explained as he walked across the kitchen to get his own cup of coffee. "I guess I forgot to mention that sound carries right through the wall."

"Just slipped your mind, did it?" Bones grumbled and then sipped his coffee. He looked even more miserable than he had when Jim had first walked in the kitchen.

"Yeah it did, and when you guys started to get noisy it didn't seem like the time to tell you that I could hear you clear as day... Bones." Jim couldn't help it and started snickering all over again.

"You know, you could just call me Len, or Leonard," Bones sighed and rubbed his face. "Hell, even Lenny is better."

"I could, but golden opportunities don't normally land in my lap like this one did, so I'm not about to let it pass. Besides Leonard, Len, and even Lenny are boring, Bones at least has some panache to it, don't you think?" Jim asked. He sat down at the table opposite Bones, then reached out and patted his hand. "Don't worry Bones, I won't tell anyone how you really got the name, it's a secret I'll take to my grave."

"That just makes me feel so much better.".

"It should, I do keep my word you know," Jim was wise enough not to comment on how easily Bones accepted his new name.

***

And that's how Lenny became Bones, and from that day to this, he, Jim and Jocelyn (who'd asked about it years later) were the only people who knew the true story behind that nickname. Jim had kept his promise on that, even when other more important ones had been broken. Whenever anyone had asked how that nickname came to be, Jim said that it had to do with Bones being a pianist and wasn't playing piano often referred to as tickling the ivories, and what was ivory but not bones, so Bones was Bones. Normally by the time he got to the end of his spiel his audience had squirrelly eyes and had written Jim off as being a lunatic and let it go at that.

Jim rubbed his face much the same way Bones had all those years ago when he had sat at Jim's mother's kitchen table, then stood up to look down the hallway, just on the off chance that someone was coming with news. Except for the nurses further down, nobody else was around. Nyota was thankfully quiet; she just held his hand when he sat down again. Sulu and Chekov sat on another bench holding hands, looking as worried and shell shocked as Jim felt. Jim was grateful for their presence and that they too seemed to know that empty assurances wouldn't be welcome. Spock and Scotty still hadn't returned from talking with the police and Jim had to wonder how long it would be before they would show up. He didn't want to think how much worse the situation could have been, if they hadn't been there and acted so quickly and selflessly, and stupid.

He couldn't lose Bones, he just didn't know if he'd make it through if the worst happened. Staring at a spot on the floor his mind wandered back again to that year when they'd first met. It was one of the best of his life; the future had been so full of promise and his life lay ahead of him. They didn't become lovers right away or even best friends until the end of time—that grew slowly through the autumn and winter. But there were moments from that pivotal year that still stood out in his mind.

****

 

Jim felt strange standing on the sidewalk in front of his house staring through the window, but he couldn't help it. As September had given way to October, Bones had taken to using the piano in the living room to practice as often as he'd squirrel himself away in his room. Watching him from the street had become a part of Jim's end of the workday ritual. He couldn't hear the music from where he stood, but that wasn't the draw. What captivated Jim was how Bones looked when he was engrossed in a piece - even though his back was to the street and Jim couldn't see his face. What he could see was mesmerizing. Like now, his head was tilted just so, and he leaned down into the keyboard, and from the movement of his fingers - his long, beautiful fingers that Jim had many fantasies over — Jim guessed that he was playing something light and lilting. It looked almost as if he were trying to coax a shy child out to play. Jim had no idea how long he stood there watching. Long enough that Bones had finished whatever he'd been playing and had moved on to something else. His back was ramrod straight and his arm movements were large and his head moved from side to side; Jim would say it was almost thrashing, Bones would say that Jim was an idiot. But, whatever, he knew what he saw. Now he was ready for the second part of his ritual. He walked up the steps and opened the door as quietly as possible so that he wouldn't disturb Bones from his current endeavour. Before he could take up his usual place just outside the living room entry, the smile that was always in place when he heard Bones playing quickly turned into a puzzled frown. Bones was playing Rachmaninoff's "Prelude in C sharp minor," Jim hated Rachmaninoff, and this piece in particular. It was overbearing and it always grated on his nerves. Bones managed to make it almost tolerable, but he didn't quite get there.

"God I hate that piece," Jim complained as he popped his head into living room.

Bones snapped his head up and, glowered at Jim. "And that just proves once again that you have no appreciation for good music."

"That's not true, Bones. The other day when you were playing Bach's "Prelude" and "Fugue in E," I got weak in the knees. And I won't tell you how much I love your handling of Beethoven's sonatas, because I'll just embarrass myself, but Rachmaninoff is overbearing and pretentious and not even your magic fingers can save that." Normally Jim didn't show himself when Bones played and judging by the dumbfounded look on his face and dropped jaw, he had had no clue that Jim paid him any attention, or that he was as music literate as he just proved himself to be. Jim was quite satisfied with that reaction, and left the room with a wink and smile and bounded up the stairs before the cranky musician could respond.

****

Jim was in his bedroom trying to work out a new original song for GROpe and was having a hell of a time with it. He wrote 99% of their music and about half of the lyrics. He'd been trying to put something of Sulu's to music. It was about his latest break-up and Jim was trying desperately not to have it turn into any sort of ballad. The words were brilliantly angry and hurt, and the music had started out the same, but somewhere in the middle he found that he wanted to slow it down and make it more heartfelt. The only problem was that everything he came up with sounded too schmaltzy for his tastes. He sat on the windowsill paying more attention to the heavy rain and the _plop_ of raindrops on the pavement than he did to Marilyn, who was cradled in his lap. He was vaguely aware that next door Bones was in the process of learning something too. It took some time for Jim to notice that what Bones was banging out on his keyboard was the elusive bridge that Jim had been trying to peg down all afternoon.

"Bones you're a fuckin' genius," Jim shouted and hopped off the window sill. Taking Marilyn and grabbing his portable amp he rushed into Bones' room. "Show me that."

Bones looked surprised when Jim burst into his room, but that soon morphed into something that resembled smugness. "Say 'please.'"

"Ah come on Bones, don't be a jerk. You know I've been killing myself all afternoon trying to get this song to work, and you've solved my problem. You gotta show me," Jim whined.

"I don't gotta do nothin', Jim," Bones replied sternly and crossed his arms over his chest, but the gleam in his eye was nothing short of amused.

"Ah come on, Bones, please?"

"No, Jim, out," he said, and pointed toward the door.

"I said 'please.'"

"You didn't mean it."

"I did so! Come on." Jim batted his eyelashes coquettishly at Bones, "Pleeeeeeeeaaasse." That only netted him more scowl. "How's this then. Pretty please with a blowjob on top," he said with a smirk. Bones didn't need to know that he would have happily delivered on that.

"Jesus, Jim, does it always come back to sex for you?" Something that Jim could have sworn was want flashed in Bones' eyes, and then he looked miffed, which was just a step down from pissed.

"Pretty much," he grinned cheekily.

Bones shook his head, muttering something about oversexed brats, but finally relented.

Jim sat on the edge of Bones' bed and watched as he played it through once and then tried it himself. As soon as he did, Jim felt like an idiot because it was just so obvious. Instead of easing into the slower tempo, Bones' suggestion was that he stop the music dead for two beats and then continue with the same melody but with a slower beat. Like he said, obvious, and done a thousand times before, but the simplicity worked. He played it through until it was committed to memory.

"Thanks, Bones."

"Don't mention it," he replied, then turned back to his keyboard and started in on Vivaldi's "Presto"--the third movement from the "Summer" concerto of his _Four Seasons_. Jim supposed that was Bones' way of telling him to get out, but he knew that piece—when he was fifteen he'd spent the summer learning it for his grandfather, who had been ill with cancer. Jim had wanted to surprise him by playing one of his favourite pieces of music for him. When he debuted it for him, it was the only the time he'd seen his grandfather shed a tear. He'd died soon after that, and Jim hadn't played it since. He had a knot in his stomach listening to Bones play it now, but there was no way that he wouldn't join in.

Jim noticed that Bones hesitated for a fraction of a second, and he'd looked surprised, but then he continued on immediately. Jim found it amazing that he and Bones were able to play through, and they weren't off on timing, or tempo, or anything for that matter. It was as if they'd been doing this together for years. When they finished that, Bones launched into a jazz piece called Take five, and granted the bass guitar would have been better suited for it, but that didn't stop Jim. For the next hour or so, Jim followed where Bones led – through jazz, and blues and back to something classical. Of course they didn't always hit the perfection that they'd had with the Vivaldi, but that didn't matter; not to Jim, and it didn't seem to bother Bones any. Jim couldn't help laughing with pure pleasure when Bones started to bang out Jerry Lee Lewis's "Great Balls of Fire." He set Marilyn down and jumped to his feet to accompany him with vocals.

 _You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain,_ he belted out the top of his lungs, _too much love drives a man insane, you broke my will, but what thrill, goodness gracious great balls of fire_. And when he crooned out _Ohhhhhh kiss me baby, feels good, I want to love you like a lover should_ , he really did mean it.

By the time that they finished Jim was breathless because of course he couldn't stand still while singing that song. The fact that halfway through he realized that he really was singing it to Bones had nothing to do with it. If Bones noticed he didn't let it show.

"See Bones, I knew you had a young guy in there just dying to get out," he said as he flopped down on the bed beside Marilyn.

"Whatever," Bones said absently. He stared at Jim for the longest time and it made him feel like a bug under a microscope. He was about to say so when Bones spoke up. "You know you're wasting your talents?"

"Oh don't you start, too," Jim said peevishly. "I get this from my mom all the time. I'm not into the classics. Sure I can play them, and some of them I like, but I don't love them, not the way I love what I do. I thought you'd get that."

Bones sighed, "I guess Jim, but what I saw, what I felt just now, that was pure magic."

He couldn't argue with that, Jim had felt it too. "That was the company more than the music, Bones. We play well together, but on a full time basis? I know that I'd be just as miserable playing this, as you would be if you became part of GROpe." Which was a shame really, he could practice for hours with the guys, and enjoy himself immensely but he'd never ever felt the connection with them that he had with Bones that afternoon. He'd love to have that kind of musical partnership on a regular basis, but he knew that though they fit together seamlessly, their musical tastes really didn't mesh. And while it made him sad to admit, he also realized and treasured the thought that, though they might never play together professionally, they could always have these quiet times all to themselves. And maybe, just maybe, that was more precious.

****

Bones had gone to Cambridge to visit with Jocelyn for the Valentine's weekend, and Jim was bored out of his skull. He was hanging out in Bones' room (and, no, he wasn't pining) until it was time to go out for the night. He wasn't sure when he'd become so dependent on Bones to entertain him when he was at home, but it had started that afternoon in the autumn when they'd whiled away the time playing together. Since then, they'd been almost inseparable when they were at home. Usually, they just hung out in Bones' room. His practice schedule was killer, and he had a lot of course work on top of that, so much of their time was spent with Bones poring over books or working out pieces on his keyboard. Jim always had Marilyn with him, but out of respect for Bones (shocking behaviour for him, he knew) he didn't plug her in unless Bones said it was okay. Actually, they never did much more than what Jim was doing now (sitting around picking at his guitar), but without Bones there, what was normally a pleasant way to spend the afternoon, was just lonely—which was stupid considering that, up until November, Jim had never had a problem being on his own.

Very quickly Bones had become one of the most important people in his life, which scared the ever loving crap out of Jim, and pissed him off, because Bones was very much in love with Jocelyn (as the twice weekly telephone calls that lasted close to an hour attested) and, as far as Jim could tell, Bones was completely heterosexual. Oh, and loyal to a fault, so even if he did have homosexual leanings and did think of Jim as something more than a friend, he wouldn't do anything about it as long as he was with Jocelyn. Which brought Jim back to the point that Bones was madly in love with her.

Which wasn't fair because he felt that he and Bones were a much better match. That wasn't just wishful thinking on his part, either. In the months since November, Jim had learned an awful lot about Bones' life, and it was as if they were two sides of the same coin. Like Jim, Bones only had one living parent, but it was his mother who had died, - along with his older sister- in a car accident when Bones was six years old.

Jim's father had died on the night of his birth. George Kirk had been on his way to the hospital where his wife was already in the later stages of labour. The story, as Jim had been told, was that just blocks from the hospital, George had come across a woman being attacked by a single assailant and, being the man that he was, George couldn't walk on by. He stepped in, fought hard with the guy, and the woman was able to get free and run for help. George didn't fare so well; several stab wounds in his abdomen guaranteed that he didn't see his baby boy come into the world.

Needless to say, Winona didn't cope well for the first years of Jim's life, and a lot of his upbringing was left to his paternal grandfather, Tiberius, with whom he and his mother lived, and in whose house they still lived. By the time that Winona was back to fully functioning, Jim was four years old, and mother and son had never truly bonded. The best he could describe their relationship now, was distant. He didn't hate his mother, but he didn't feel particularly close to her, either.

Bones' relationship with his father was the exact opposite. After his wife died, David McCoy had doted on his son and had done the best that he could to raise his boy despite the depth of his own grief. The result was that father and son had an unbreakable bond. David McCoy was proud of his son; he knew he had a gift, and that it would be crime if it were suppressed. That is why when Bones was still young, all talk of him following in the family tradition of becoming a doctor had ceased. He loved his son, and wanted what was best for him. Jim couldn't help but think that _he_ was best for David McCoy's son.

But that was neither here nor there, as Bones was in Cambridge with Jocelyn at that very moment. He'd hitched a ride with someone from school instead of having to take the bus, so he had left around four the day before instead of that morning as he had originally planned. Jim was working himself into a jealous mess thinking about the reunion that the two of them would have, and how grateful Jocelyn would be to have Bones for an extra night. He'd already heard what they were like together, and he could just imagine how hot it would be after a long separation.

The smell of Bones was all around him and he started to rub his dick through his pants, while thoughts of the sexy couple played out in his head. He felt little guilt about doing that in Bones' bed. He was just about to pop the button on his jeans and unzip the fly when Bones came stomping in. He threw his duffle bag at Jim's head, hitting him square in the face.

"I hope you were not about to do what I think you were on my bed. Never mind that you're in my room at all. Boundaries Jim, learn them." Bones glowered at him and then slumped down onto the corner of the bed.

Jim jumped up, fully intent on protesting loudly- and with wild histrionics- the abuse to his face, until he saw the look of absolute dejection on Bones'. That coincided with his brain catching up to the fact that at that very moment, Bones should have been in Cambridge doing dirty things with Jocelyn, not sitting on the edge of his bed in Inwood looking like his whole world had come apart at the seams.

"Ah fuck, Bones, what happened?" Jim touched Bones' shoulder lightly, and his heart broke for his friend when they made eye contact. He had pretty much figured that there was only one thing that would have Bones back three days early, and the pain filled look in his eye confirmed it. Jim had already pegged Jocelyn to not be as loyal to Bones as he was to her, and at one time he would have taken full advantage of that. Now he was thankful that he'd never gone near her.

"Guess I should have tried to call her from the road," Bones said sadly. "But since I couldn't get a hold of her before we left, I thought it would be romantic to surprise her. Looks like the joke was on me, and has been for a long time," he sighed.

"Here, man, you need something to make you feel better," Jim said. He stood and opened the window and then he pulled out a joint from the ever present Baggie in his guitar case (which just happened to be in Bones' room), sparked it up and handed it over to Bones who pretty much Bogarted the whole thing. Jim really didn't know what to say, having never been in that situation before, being in love that is — usually he was the one who ended up being the heartbreaker.

Luckily, he was saved from saying anything - or more importantly, the wrong thing - by Bones, who related the whole sorry incident without any more prompting. "You've heard me mention Clay Treadway before, a guy from back home who's at Harvard too?" Bones asked, and Jim nodded. "Never did like the asshole, he's always had a thing for Jocelyn, but as far as I knew the attraction was one-sided. Boy was I wrong there. Sure she flirted with him, but she flirts with everyone, I didn't think it meant anything."

Jim sighed, he could have told Bones ages ago that Jocelyn's flirting was more than harmless fun. He felt a little guilty that he hadn't, but then Bones wouldn't have believed him anyway.

"I found out yesterday how mistaken I was on that. Her roommate was surprised when I showed up on their doorstep, but I assumed that it was because I wasn't expected. She said she was getting ready to go out when I knocked, and told me that Jocelyn was in her room and that I should just go in. Don't know if she really was or if she just didn't want to be there for the fallout, doesn't matter. At least she had the good grace not to stick around. I think it's kind of weird that she let me walk right in, though; that she didn't try to warn Joce. I don't know whether I should be grateful to her or not." Bones sighed and looked up at him. "Let's just say that Joce and I didn't have the reunion I that I'd been hoping for. Thankfully, they weren't having sex when I opened the door, but they were definitely heading in that direction. There was no mistaking that they were doing more than studying."

"Tell me you clocked him a good one at least, Bones."

"I did, but not right away. At first I just turned and walked out, but, of course, Joce couldn't let it go at that. She didn't even try to salvage the situation, she just went on the offensive, about how if I weren't in New York and was closer to her, she wouldn't be so lonely and wouldn't have to turn to other people. I reminded her that she could have gone to Columbia, and that I was just as lonely as she was and I managed to keep it in my pants just fine. That just got her started on my music, and how that was my mistress, and even when she was around she was ignored for it more often than not. And then she brought up something that I'd shared with her once before we even started dating, and that she worried all the time that I was indulging in those urges while I was here. I'm not, and I told her so."

"What other urges?" Jim's curiosity was piqued.

"Nothing you need to worry about, Jim, just forget I said anything," Bones warned.

Jim wasn't surprised when Bones refused to answer and didn't elaborate. Under normal circumstances he would have bugged until he'd weaseled it out of him, but right now he had to be a friend — he'd save the weaselling for some other time. "So what happened after that?"

"I called her a heartless bitch and a slut, along with a few other choice things that I'm not proud of now, but I suppose I can be forgiven, considering the situation. That's when Clay stuck his nose into it. I guess he took offence to me calling her those things."

Jim snorted, "If the shoe fits..."

"Funny, that's exactly what I said," Bones grinned, but the smile didn't touch the sadness in his eyes. "He took a swing at me, missed, and didn't get another chance because I laid him out flat.

"Good for you, Bones!" Jim was quite proud of him, and clapped him on the shoulder. Screw all the bullshit about violence not solving anything. Sometimes a little physical release was just what the doctor ordered, and if it happened to be on the face of the asshole that was fucking your girlfriend, all the better.

"Yeah, it was hard to stop at one punch though; I'm surprised that it only took one swing to take him down. If I'd had any doubt before about where her loyalties lay, the fact that she ran to Clay and yelled at me for hurting him, told me all that I needed to know."

Bones looked so sad and betrayed when he said that, that Jim wanted to drive up to Cambridge and kick some ass himself. "I'm sorry, man, I really am." He had to stifle the urge to take Bones in his arms and comfort him. They were both grown men and they didn't do that, so instead he just nudged his shoulder against Bones'.

"Thanks, Jim." Bones sat with his head cradled in his hands for a moment before he finished off his sad tale. "I left after that and found a cheap hotel close to the bus station, picked up some bourbon and spent rest of the night getting trashed in my room. Didn't haul my ass out of bed 'til close to noon, when housekeeping was banging down my door. Once I left the hotel, I wandered for quite a while and thought about tracking Joce down, but then wondered what good it would do; we'd just end up yelling and hurling accusations at each other all over again. Instead, I headed to the bus station and got on the first one available and here I am."

They sat in silence for a bit, but then Bones couldn't resist the lure of his first love and started to play. He started off with something slow and sad that Jim didn't recognize, but that didn't matter. He lay back on Bones' bed and let the music wash over him, felt Bones' despair, and his heart ached. He had no idea how long he lay there before he remembered that he actually had to go out that night.

"Shit, I gotta go Bones, we have a gig tonight," he said jumping up. "Maybe you should come with me."

"I'll be fine Jim, thanks for sitting with me."

"I don't know, Bones, I don't want to leave you alone, maybe I'll just give it a pass for tonight."

"No you will not! I'm not fit for company and you can't let the band down," Bones said sternly.

 

"I feel like I'm letting _you_ down."

"You're not, I promise. Now get out."

Jim stared at Bones, in an attempt to determine if he really would be okay on his own. "Fine, but I'm leaving under protest. You're not going to do anything stupid, are you?"

"I won't, but thanks for the sentiment Jim, I appreciate it. And Jim, thanks for being here tonight."

"Anytime, Bones, anytime."

****

 

"Come on out tonight, Bones, it'll do you good. Who knows, you might even have some fun. You do remember what that is, right?"

"Yes Jim, I do. And I can guarantee that I won't have fun sitting in a club full of idiots who think what you and the guys play is music."

"Ah Bones, you wound me, right here in the heart." Jim clutched at his chest to illustrate his point. "Seriously though, it's been over a month now, hell it's closer to two, and you've done nothing but brood."

Jocelyn had contacted Bones twice, but as he had predicted when he'd thought about going to see her back in Cambridge, both times had degenerated into screaming matches, and more hurt feelings. As far as Jim knew, they hadn't had any contact in well over three weeks and the relationship was well and truly over.

"It's called practicing, and getting on with my life."

"No, you're holed up in your room, by yourself, every minute that you're at home, or you're at school until all hours of the day and night. You never play at mom's piano anymore. Hell, just this morning Spock commented on how quiet the house has been this last little while, and how it felt so empty. _Spock_ said that, Bones." What Jim didn't say, but it was there in the room anyway, was that he missed Bones' company and felt like he was being shut out.

"So maybe I'm taking some time to lick my wounds, big deal."

"Ha, you just said you were getting on with your life. So which is it Bones, are you moving on, or having a pity party of one?"

Bones shot Jim a look that told him he was pushing the edges of his patience; which was totally not fair because Jim had just gotten started and hadn't worked his way up to full on annoying yet. He figured that Bones was just unhappy because he'd been caught being contrary. "So come on, it's just for a few hours, what's it going to hurt?"

Actually, Jim knew that he could be in for a world of pain later if his plan backfired. There was something about the club – Mother's – that the band was playing in tonight that he was keeping from Bones, and he didn't know how his friend would react. Jim had thought long and hard on the comment Bones had made about certain urges that he'd had. He'd tried once to get Bones to 'fess up to what they were, to no avail, and to be honest Bones had been so down that Jim didn't have it in him to pester too hard. Nevertheless, he had an idea what they were, and the more he was on the lookout for it, the more convinced he was that he was right.

"You're not going to quit until I say yes, are you?" Bones sighed.

"Well I'll stop when I have to go, but that's not for a while yet, so from now until then, probably not," Jim answered with a cheeky grin.

"Fine I'll go, but I make no promises about staying."

"Great! It'll do you good, you'll see," Jim ignored the flutter of trepidation, or was it anticipation, in his stomach, when he thought about what Bones' reaction to the club might be, and the possibilities that it could bring.

"Yeah sure, Jim, from your lips to God's ears."

An hour and a half later Jim was crouched down checking the plugs on his amp and trying desperately to keep from busting a gut, while a glowering Leonard H. McCoy ripped him a new one.

"A leather bar, Jim? You brought me to a fucking gay bar. What in God's green earth ever possessed you to think that it would be even remotely acceptable to bring me to a place like this? Have you lost your goddamned mind?"

Jim opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut at Bones' quickly spat out "Don't answer that. Because of course you have, what other explanation could there be?"

Jim went to answer that, but was once again cut off by Bones. "Rhetorical questions don't require an answer, Jim. I bet you find this whole situation a great big barrel of laughs."

Oh he did. "Come on, it's not that bad. Just sit at the table enjoy the band, do a little bit of people watching, get shit-faced if you have to. I'd tone down that grumpy, keep away from me look of yours though, it's unbelievably hot, if I do say so myself. Instead of keeping the masses away, it's going to draw them to you like flies to a dung heap."

"Comparing me to a pile of shit now? Gee thanks, Jim." Bones grinned at him. Jim could tell that he was attempting to suppress it, but he failed miserably. From that, Jim knew he wasn't going to be handed his head on a platter.

"You know what I mean, and don't say I didn't warn you when you have to start beating the boys off with sticks."

"And who says I'd want to..." Bones stopped short, presumably because he realized what he was about to say, and had turned beet red.

"Ha! I knew it," Jim crowed triumphantly.

"Knew what?" Bones narrowed his eyes, and practically growled. His fragile good mood vanished, and he was back to being pissed off.

"Yeah, well those urges you talked about, I just figured a night spent here might help you figure things out."

"I mentioned it once, by accident, and I made it quite clear that I didn't want to discuss it with you, with anyone as a matter of fact."

"And I respected your wishes. I didn't bug you to tell me what it was all about."

"And yet here I am, in a gay bar, because you dragged me here under some pretence of getting out and doing myself some good."

"So leave, no one's making you stay," Jim said just a might testily. "It's really not that big a deal if you're bi, or strictly gay for that matter. Though, hearing how you got on with Jocelyn I'm thinking bi."

"Of course not, because homosexuality is oh so acceptable in our society. Because being shunned and cast out by one's friends and family is something everyone strives for."

"Fuck 'em, Bones. Really, if they can't accept you for you, then, quite frankly, they don't deserve to have you in their lives."

"That's easy for you to say."

"Yeah it is, and it's something I live by. You're my friend, Bones, and always will be regardless of who you take to bed and what sex they might be."

"That means a lot Jim, it really does. But I don't know about my Dad or grandmother, they're both really old-fashioned. I mean they're both caring, compassionate people, but I think this would push their limits, and don't get me started on the rest of the family. Damn, this really isn't the time or place to have this conversation." Bones sank down onto the stage beside Jim and ran his hands through his hair.

Jim looked around, and realized that Bones was right. They were drawing a bit of an audience since neither one of them had bothered to keep their voices down. "Yeah you're right, we'll continue it later."

"No we won't, Jim. It's closed, finished, never to be talked of again."

"Of course, Bones," he said in a way that made it perfectly clear that it wasn't.

"I mean it, Jim. I don't want to discuss it, not with you, not with anyone. You got that?"

"Yeah, sure, sure," Jim said dismissively. "Now it's time for you to go sit at the table and watch us be awesome, unless you want to join us on stage," which only earned him an eye roll and a muttered 'it'll be a cold day in hell.'

They were awesome. They had a good crowd on the dance floor and from the stage Jim noticed that a couple of guys did approach Bones. He wasn't ashamed to admit — to himself at least — that he was relieved when they were shot down. He wasn't sure what he was hoping for, but he knew that he wanted to be Bones' first guy. Hell, he wasn't even sure if Bones had been with a guy or not, but Jim had a very strong feeling, judging from everything that had been said so far, that he hadn't.

Jim's relief was put to the test somewhere in the middle of their second set. Bones, who must have loosened up with the drinks he'd consumed, was actually on the dance floor with a partner and who the fuck knew that he could move like that — it should have been illegal. He shouldn't have been surprised, really. Bones played with such passion, and Jim had heard him while having sex, he knew his friend burned hot. He just hadn't expected to see evidence of it out in public, on a dance floor, and with somebody that he'd just met and who wasn't Jim.

Jim lost his way in the song for a moment and, to cover for it, Sulu came over and made a show of bumping into him and teasing him a bit until he got back on track. They were playing one of their own songs, which was fast with a strong beat, and lent itself very well to the bumping and grinding that Bones and his partner were doing. If he hadn't been watching it with his own eyes, he'd never believe that Bones would behave like that in public. He had to be drunker than he'd ever been in his life.

 

Not that it wasn't a pretty picture, Bones had his back to the guy, grinding his ass into his groin, while his partner's hands roamed all over his front, even down so far as to touch the tops of his thighs—caress was more like it. Jim cursed in his mind. He practically growled out the next line of the song when the guy's hand strayed under Bones' t-shirt. That was another thing, Bones looked liked Joe-normal, what the hell were all these leather-clad guys doing hitting all over him. Jim had had enough, and couldn't hold himself back any longer when Bones turned in the guy's arms and started kissing him.

"Oh fuck, no," Jim growled into the mike. He unplugged Marilyn, laid her down gently on the stage (no matter how pissed he was, he wouldn't mistreat his lady), and then stomped off, leaving Sulu and Scotty to cover for him, which they did quite well with Scotty taking over with a monumental drum solo, even though it didn't fit the song.

Jim didn't pay any attention to what his band mates were doing, as his focus was solely on Bones. "Mine," he growled at the same time that he sunk his fingers into Bones hair--really soft if not a little sweaty from dancing hair-- and pulled his head back to claim his lips. He kissed him harshly, possessively. Bones tasted heavily of bourbon, but Jim didn't mind in the least, especially when Bones turned around and kissed him back. He made the nicest, neediest noises that Jim had ever heard. He also noted that despite consuming a lot of liquor, Bones' arousal was making a physical appearance.

"Mine," he repeated to both men when he broke the kiss. And son of a bitch, didn't Bones' smile look like a smirk.

"I don't have a say in this, Jim?" Bones' growl was slightly slurred.

"Only if you agree," Jim answered.

"And if I don't?"

"You know me; I'll just ignore what you say and give you what you want."

"The band will be taking a fifteen minute break," Sulu said from the stage.

"You heard him Bones we have fifteen minutes to discuss this," Jim said as he pulled Bones toward a door. "Sorry to steal your dance partner," he yelled over his shoulder when Bones actually followed him without a fight.

"No worries man, he already told me he was going home with you," the guy yelled back, laughing. "I was just warming him up for you, though I'd be alright for joining in."

Jim didn't bother to respond. He opened the door that lead into a back alley and pushed Bones through and up against the wall. "So you told him you were coming home with me, huh?"

"Yeah, an' ya know I din' mean it tha way. We live in the same house," he slurred.

"So you were using me for protection, is that all?" Jim placed his hands on either side of Bones' head, and then stepped close so that they were definitely in each other's space.

"S' what if I was?" Bones was sulking, and didn't he look adorable when he was all drunk and sulky.

"But then you were kissing him," Jim reminded him. "Guess you didn't need my protection after all."

"It felt good, Jim." And shit, he sounded so confused that Jim almost felt bad for him. That didn't stop him from pressing his advantage though.

"What did, Bones? Kissing a man?"

"Yeah," he sighed, "but not just that, the touching too, it felt different than with a woman. I liked it."

"Like this?" Jim asked as he ran his hands down Bones' sides. "Do you like that?" He whispered in his ear. "Do you want me to touch you anywhere else?"

Bones nodded.

"I didn't like watching you dancing with him," Jim admitted. "Didn't like it when he touched here," he said as he dragged his hands across Bones' stomach. "I most definitely didn't like it when he did this," he slid his hands down to the top of Bones' thighs."

"I'm sorry," Bones whimpered when Jim did that. "Like the way you do it better."

"Oh fuck, Bones," Jim cursed and crushed his lips into Bones'. He slid his tongue past Bones' parted lips and groaned. Bones had suddenly lost his shyness and was kissing him back. He roamed his hands all over Jim's back and started to rub his hard on into Jim's.

"I want..." Bones panted out when they broke their kiss, and Jim started to lick down the length of his throat. "Oh Jim, I want..."

"So you said, Bones," Jim lifted away from his current activities and placed another kiss on the corner of his mouth. "What is it exactly, that you want?"

"You," he said breathlessly, and palmed Jim through is jeans.

"I don't have time to take care of you properly," Jim sighed as he lifted Bones' hands from his crotch and kissed his palm, and then he dropped to his knees. "So what I'm going to do" he said as he undid Bones belt, and pulled down his zipper, "is this." He slid Bones' underwear over his hips and took his cock in his hands and licked the head. "Mmm, you taste good Bones. But I want more than just this. Do you?"

Bones nodded his head. He looked amazingly incoherent. His eyes were heavy lidded, his cheeks where tinged with pink, and he breathed in little gasping pants. In short, he looked completely fuckable.

 

Jim ran his tongue down the underside of Bones cock, and then came back up and ran it along the rim of his head. "I'll take care of you now, but when we get home Bones, I'm gonna fuck you into the mattress, Ok?"

"Oh god, yes, please," Bones whimpered, when Jim took him wholly in his mouth.

And as Bones was coming down his throat, Jim just knew that this was the start of something wonderful.

 

****

 

Jim raced down West 66th Street, weaving in and around the other pedestrians on the sidewalk, calling out a rushed apology to any he happened to jostle in his hurry to find Bones. He just missed getting creamed by a car as he crossed against the lights at Broadway. He knew where his boyfriend was - he still felt an odd, warm glow when he thought of Bones in those terms, which he had ever since that night at Mother's when he'd practically claimed Bones on the dance floor - he just needed to get there. He flew through the halls of Julliard, ran up two flights of stairs and burst into the practice room that he knew was Bones' favourite. "Bones, you'll never guess what happened today," Jim all but shouted.

"For Christ's sake Jim," Bones barked out before glowering at his interrupting boyfriend, "have a little consideration; some of us are trying to practice."

"Never mind that!" Jim was practically bouncing as he plopped himself into Bones' lap and kissed the daylights out of him. He moaned when Bones started to kiss him back, then squawked like an upset chicken when the jerk dumped him unceremoniously onto the floor.

"Jesus, Jim, what were you thinking?" Bones jumped up and smoothed down his shirt self-consciously. "Anybody could have walked by and seen us."

"Yeah, so?" It was still a bone of contention with Jim that even though they were going at it like rabbits whenever they had the chance, Bones still wasn't comfortable with being open about the two of them. "Here is the least likely place that you're going to get flak for being with another guy, Bones. At least try. I'm not asking you to come out to your father." The 'yet' hung heavy in the air; Jim's mother knew all about them, having walked in on them kissing in the kitchen one morning. She found many things with Jim to be disapproving about, but Bones wasn't one of them. She'd made some comment that their private life was their business, but this was her house and she expected them to behave with the same decorum that Spock and Nyota conducted themselves. Right, so they snuck in and out of each other's bedroom at all hours of the night after she was asleep and moved to separate beds before she woke up.

"Sorry, Jim, I am trying. What's got you so hopped up right now?"

No, he wasn't, not really, but Jim was too over the moon to argue the point with him at the moment. "Oh yeah, you know who Chris Pike is?" Bones shook his head. "He's the owner of Enterprise Records, it's a small label, but they have some great acts signed to it. Seems he was in Mother's the night that we played there, and then he made a point to catch us a few more times." Jim paused, and then grinned when Bones blushed at the mention of the night they got together. It bordered on adorable, and at any other time he would have teased him mercilessly, but his news was too big for him to get distracted over anything else. "Anyway, he contacted me this morning and asked for a meeting with the band. He wants to sign us, Bones! Can you believe you that?"

"Obviously this Chris Pike person has no taste in music, either." Bones grinned as he said it to take the bite out. He wouldn't be himself, after all, if he didn't make a snide comment on Jim's music, except Jim knew he was fast becoming one of their biggest fans. Bones wrapped his arms around the incredibly hyper, still bouncing like an excited puppy, Jim, and kissed him hard. "I'm happy for you, kid, I really am. Just make sure you have Spock look at any contracts before you sign anything," he whispered as he broke their kiss, but not their embrace, when another student poked their head in the door to ask Bones something.

Jim's chest swelled when Bones hung onto him and only felt a little tense. He was trying, and that's all Jim could ask for at the moment. He understood and accepted that Bones wasn't into public displays of affection. It was the denial of their relationship, or whatever the hell it was that they were in, that hurt Jim. This may have been a small step, but it was monumental to Jim--nearly as big as his news.

****

  
Jim was roused out of his musings by the arrival of Spock and Scotty. He felt the loss of Nyota when she jumped up to take comfort from her husband, who, despite his outward stoicism and disdain for overt emotionalism, wrapped his arms around his wife. It seemed he needed her comfort as much as she did his. Jim tried not to be jealous, but it wasn't working. He needed his Bones, and he steadfastly refused to believe that he would never have the chance to hold him the way his friends were holding each other.

"Fuck." It came out as a whimper and not a curse. "What's taking so long?" Jim asked to no one in particular, and he didn't expect an answer — wouldn't have appreciated one if someone had deemed to respond.

"How long has he been in surgery?" Scotty asked.

"For fucking ever," Jim responded, his exasperation and worry evident.

Sulu then related everything that they knew, and then it was quiet again as they all sat down to wait some more.

Finally, a half hour after Scotty and Spock showed up, the surgeon came out to speak to Jim.

"We managed to close up the wounds and stop the bleeding. The next twelve hours are crucial, but the likelihood for a full recovery is high."

Jim nodded and his knees nearly gave out on him in relief. "Can I see him?"

"He's being moved into ICU. As soon as he's settled, someone will come to get you."

So Jim continued to do more waiting. Luckily it wasn't a long one this time. A nurse came out and told them that they could go into see Bones, but only two at a time. Jim went in with Nyota. Bones looked better than he had before the surgery but that wasn't saying much. He still had tubes hooked up to him and going everywhere, and he was oh so pale. He found it hard to believe that just a few hours ago this man who looked like he was clinging to life had brought down the house at Lincoln Center.

"Oh Leonard," Nyota's voice broke.

Jim stood at the edge of the bed and held onto Bones' hand, not letting go, while each of their friends came in and stayed for a bit, before leaving to let someone else have a turn. Spock was the last.

"I'm going to stay, but you guys should go home," Jim said.

"Jim, Nyota and I will stay with you."

"It's not necessary, really Spock, you guys go home, get some sleep. If anything changes I'll let you know." Truth was he wanted to be alone with Bones, and some of that must have shown on his face because Spock didn't argue the point with him.

Once everyone was gone, Jim made himself as comfortable in the provided chair as he possibly could, held Bones' hand in his and stroked his thumb over the back of it. His eyes were glued to the up and down motion of Bones chest.

"You know, Bones," he said quietly, "All night, I've been thinking about us and everything that we've gone through over the years. We've had some amazing times you and me, but we've had some shitty ones too, but if you don't make it..." Jim stopped his monologue with a broken sob, and he clutched Bones' hand tighter in his. "Anyway, as I was saying," he continued once he composed himself enough to speak again, "do you remember the time surrounding GROpe's third record? I'm sure you do, that was the start of the bleakest five years of my life, but that would be nothing if you don't make it. I'm stronger now, and I wouldn't handle things the same way as I did back then, but shit Bones, I don't want to test that theory, okay? You gotta pull through." God that sounded selfish, but it was true none-the-less.

His thoughts wandered back to that time. GROpe was successful, they had just released their third album and the band was on tour promoting it. Even now Jim cringed and wanted to throw up when he thought about the damage that he and Bones had done to each other. As he had just said to Bones, it wasn't a best moment for either one of them.

 

****

"You better hope that this one doesn't end up in a rag mag, like the last three did." Scotty threw a newspaper onto the table, scattering some empty beer cans, a lone razor blade and a small mirror as it slid toward Jim. "Len is not going to be happy. I didn't know you could be that stupid."

Jim lifted his head from where it was cradled in his arms, which were resting on the big square table in the middle of the lounge of the suite that the band was sharing, and stared blearily at the picture of him and some groupie making time against a wall in some alley in whatever town they'd been in. It was quite obvious he was doing more than just giving her his autograph. "It's not like some picture in a newspaper in Bum Fuck in the middle of nowhere in the good ole US of A, is going to make its way back to New York."

"We're in Canada, in case you didn't notice. Perhaps going through customs should have been your first clue. And though it's not New York, Toronto isn't exactly the middle of nowhere."

"Close enough. My point is, though, that it's not likely that Bones will ever see that picture. And really, so what if he does? If he'd been here last night like he was supposed to be, that," Jim jabbed his finger at the photo, "would never had happened."

"Yes, and I'm sure he'll see it that way," Sulu added his two cents, from the chair seated across from Jim.

"As much as he doesn't pay attention to the rags, you don't honestly think that your exploits will get by his notice. You don't think that Nyota will let it get by?" Asked Chekov, who was glued to Sulu's side.

"Don't care if he does, and she's just a busybody who should mind her own business," Jim answered, sounding very much like a petulant child--hung over and coke bleary--but a child just the same.

"Ach, what's got you so feeling melancholy, Lad?" Scotty's use of the brogue usually got a laugh out of Jim. He didn't even crack a half-hearted smile this time.

Jim sighed, but didn't answer. He really didn't want to get into the woes of his love life with Scotty and Sulu, and especially not with Chekov there. Things with Bones had been going south long before the tour had begun and six weeks on the road with another three ahead of them, with some European dates later in the fall didn't help at all. Jim had been faithful to Bones for the first few years they were together, but somewhere in the middle of their third, a lonely night on the road, a pretty groupie, and a mind clouded with coke changed all that. He'd felt as guilty as sin the next morning – never mind that, the guilt came when he'd been buried balls deep inside her – and he'd vowed to himself that it wouldn't happen again. It had. At first his infidelities were few and far between and confined to when the band had been on the road for weeks at a time. At first Bones didn't have a clue. Jim had been able to ease his conscience by telling himself that he was doing this because he was lonely (he disregarded completely the fact that Jocelyn had used that same excuse when she'd cheated on Bones, and it was just as lame for him now, as it had been for her) that it had nothing to do with his feelings for Bones. The odd thing was, that part was true. He loved Bones with everything in him, but he couldn't resist the rush of the quick conquest. Unfortunately, as time went on, when he was in the city he'd started to stay out all night partying and, on occasion, he'd fall into bed with a willing girl. Bones started to suspect him of straying then, and they'd had some spectacular fights about it. But there'd never been any hard evidence, and Jim had admitted to nothing. But now there were tabloid pictures of him with three different girls in three different cities, and there was a fourth that would more than likely make the rounds.

Occasionally, he'd tried to analyse why he behaved the way he did. It may have had something to do with him getting too much too soon. Success had come relatively easy and suddenly, and by the time he'd hit twenty-one he'd had more money than was decent. Plus there was the fact that he'd never seen himself settling down with one person, and certainly not when he was just nineteen. But Bones had come into his life and he'd fallen hard for him. Jim had really thought that this thing they had was a forever thing. Maybe the drugs were to blame, they certainly lowered his inhibitions and stripped him of any sense that he may have had. Maybe, at twenty-three, he was having his midlife crisis twenty years early. Maybe, in the end, it just came down to the simple fact that he was a Grade A prick. Whatever it was, their relationship was in enough trouble that Bones didn't want to come and spend a few days with him.

 

Then there was the matter that Bones' own career was starting to take off in ways that were seldom heard of for a young classical musician. He'd earned a place with the New York Philharmonic, which was uncommon enough for a pianist as young as he was, but he also had a burgeoning recording career of his own, thanks to Christopher Pike and Enterprise Records. Chris Pike was a maverick in the music industry and, though Enterprise Records didn't have a classical music division so to speak, the man could recognize exceptional talent when it was right in front of him, and he'd jumped at the chance to sign Bones before anyone else could. It was a partnership that was working for both of them.

With both of their careers taking off the way that had, Jim and Bones barely saw each other anymore. Not to mention the fact that though they were both musicians, they moved in very different circles which was now starting to matter in a way it hadn't before. Bones hadn't smoked a joint in a couple of years, and Jim... well the mirror and razor blade were testament to the rock star life that he was living.

GROpe was in Toronto, Canada, to play one show, but they also had a three-day break before they were to head out on the road again. It had been planned since before the tour started that during this short break, Bones would come up and spend the time with Jim. He could have gone back to New York, but since the break was so short, and they moved from city to city never staying in one place more than two nights at a time, Jim had been looking forward to staying put and sleeping in the same bed. That had been the plan up until two days prior when Bones had called, appropriately apologetic of course, but he couldn't make it after all, something to do with his own practice schedule. It was rather suspect and weak as excuses went, but Jim had accepted it without a fight. Perhaps it was cowardly of him, but by not saying anything, he avoided the fight that would inevitably erupt, and from that, Bones would acknowledge that he knew what was going on. And that would lead to them breaking up, so Jim was just as happy to avoid the unpleasantness altogether. Instead, he just told Bones that he loved him and that he'd miss him, which wasn't a lie. Then later that night he'd gone out and screwed that girl that he'd been photographed with.

His non-answer was interpreted correctly by his two band mates and it was Sulu who suggested that Jim should just go to New York himself and try to patch things up between them. At the time he didn't remember a similar trip that Bones had made up to Cambridge a few years before – twelve hours later the irony of the whole situation was enough that he could have choked on it. Like then, the rush to get out the door and get going had all but superseded the fact that Jim never got a chance to call Bones and let him know that he was coming. He was able to pick up a flight to New York that left shortly after three in the afternoon, and considering customs, and rush hour traffic he'd be back at the loft that he shared with Bones by 6 pm.

It was closer to seven when the taxi he'd taken from the airport pulled up to the converted warehouse in Soho that he called home. Looking up at the window that faced the street, he couldn't tell if anyone was there or not--it was still daylight so there wouldn't be a light on. He was a bit nervous, as he walked up the stairs-- it was only one flight, so unless he was hauling something heavy up, he never bothered with the lift. He had no idea what Bones' reaction was going to be, hopefully he'd be happy to see Jim, but who knew. Things had been awfully strained between them on the telephone the other day.. Then there was the matter of the tabloid pictures of Jim and those groupies, just like the old days, before Bones. He stood outside of their apartment for a good five minutes before he worked up the nerve up to go in.

He dropped his overnight bag just inside the door. At first he didn't think anything of it when Geoffrey M'benga--a violinist who had been at Julliard the same time as Bones and had ended up with the San Francisco Symphony if Jim remembered correctly—was lounging on one of the chairs in the middle of their loft, sipping what appeared to be whiskey, and looking quite relaxed. That was until Jim noticed that his shirt was unbuttoned, and that when he saw Jim and called out for Bones, though he called him Leonard, stating that there was a little problem.

Jim had already begun to piece together that there was something less than innocent with the man being in his apartment. It was confirmed when Bones yelled from the bathroom, that if Geoffrey still couldn't find his wallet, he was sure it had of fallen out of his pocket when his pants had gone flying earlier, and that he should look behind the couch. Jim's blood ran cold and he had no idea how he kept his voice on an even keel and even managed some levity. "Nah Bones, I think the problem he's referring to is me." Why he didn't take a swing at Geoffrey was something that would still puzzle him years later.

If he had been watching it in a movie he would have laughed hysterically at the look of shock, then horror on Bones' face when he came flying out of the bathroom, hair still damp from the shower and a bath sheet wrapped around his hips. "Jim, what are you doing here?" He stammered.

"I could ask the same thing about you, but I think that's quite obvious," he stated coldly. Standing rigid with his arms crossed over his chest, he and Bones stared each other down, neither one saying a word. Who knows how long the silence would have dragged on if Geoffrey hadn't said something about being sorry, and conveyed some sort of nonverbal message to Bones as he made his exit.

Jim finally cleared his throat. "I flew in from Toronto this afternoon, I didn't feel right leaving things the way that they were." And god damn it, he didn't want to sound as hurt and betrayed as he felt, especially when a hard, unsympathetic look replaced the horrified one on Bones' face.

"Whatever Jim; please don't pretend to be the injured party here."

"Yeah because it's alright for me to walk into my home and find my lover's latest lounging in my chair, drinking ..." Jim stalked over to where Geoffrey had been sitting and picked up the glass he'd been sipping from and tasted it, "...my Chivas?"

"Oh for Christ's sake Jim, grow up. You think it's been a god-damned picnic seeing your face plastered all over the tabloids with all those girls? And that's just the ones I know about. For all I know you could be fucking a different girl every night. If I decide to take comfort with one person, one time, who the hell are you to act like the betrayed housewife?" Bones screamed. He'd completely lost his cool. His eyes were bulging in his anger and his words were delivered in a shower of spit. Jim had never seen him so angry or furiously hurt before, but he didn't much care at that moment since his own feelings pretty much mirrored Bones'.

"Our home Bones, our bed," Jim growled and hurled the glass of Scotch at the wall just above Bones' head, not feeling the least bit guilty when he was showered in glass and whiskey—crystal beaded so nicely when it shattered. "You fucked him in our bed, didn't you?" Jim knew that he hit the nail on the head when Bones had the good grace to look guilty for all of two seconds before he closed down again.

"So it'd be alright if I'd done him in a hotel room, or better yet, a bathroom stall?" Bones hissed cruelly, while he wiped the Scotch from the side of his face and brushed the glass out of his hair. That last dig was a definite swipe at Jim's former (and maybe not so former) habits. "I'll remember that for next time."

"Fuck you, Bones." Jim threw the first punch and it connected with squarely with Bones' jaw. Somewhere inside of him, he knew that he was being irrational and a hypocritical ass, but that somewhere was buried deep, and at that moment he was too hurt to care.

The shock and revulsion that threatened to surface in Jim the second after Bones' head snapped back from the impact of the blow, didn't because Bones retaliated with a right hook to his cheek. After that it was a full-out schoolyard scrap. Jim took another hit to the face, and then landed two quick jabs into Bones' stomach, before he was able to grab hold of Jim's arms and grapple him to the ground. Once upon a time Bones would never have been able to get the better of him, but the combination of being out of practice, weary from travel and late nights, along with Bones' superior mass gave him a definite advantage. Jim wriggled, and kicked in an attempt to break free but it was useless, Bones had him well and truly pinned, not that that deterred Jim in his attempt to get free. Eventually, the struggle lost its violence and Jim started to get aroused. He wasn't the only one, he noticed. At some point the towel that Bones had had wrapped around his waist had come loose, and despite having had sex recently, he was grinding his very hard cock against Jim's. Bones' breath was warm and harsh against Jim's ear, and he even had the nerve to press needy kisses along Jim's throat. Instead of having the normal effect on Jim, it only served to piss him off more than he had been earlier. He took a deep breath to reign in his lust, and then he head-butted Bones and hissed for him to get off.

Bones rubbed at his forehead at the same time that he jumped up with a muttered _shit_ , freeing Jim, whose instinct was to kick out and start the brawl all over again.

Somehow good sense prevailed, and he lay on the floor until he felt confident enough that he wouldn't try to beat Bones to a bloody pulp, or fuck him into the floor. When he finally felt that he could look at Bones without doing either of those things, he got to his feet. Bones was sitting on the edge of a chair, the towel once again wrapped around his waist, and his hands were clenched in fists in his lap; all the fight had left him. He looked sad and defeated when he glanced up.

"How'd it get to this, Jim?" Bones asked softly.

"I haven't a clue, Bones," he answered. What bothered Jim the most was that Bones' look of despair had no effect on him. Neither did the fact that except for the towel wrapped around his waist he was naked. In the past both of those things would have had him reacting. The first would have had Jim trying to do anything in his power to make Bones' hurt go away, and the second would have resulted in some sexy times. Now he found that he just didn't care, and he needed to get out of there.

"Where are you going?" Bones sounded panicked now.

"I'm going out, and I don't want you here when I get back." That last part just slipped out, but Jim realized with a sickening twist of his stomach that he might really mean those words. The loft may have been theirs, but legally it belonged to Jim (he'd bought it with the royalties from their first album), so he felt that he had the right to throw Bones out. "And I want your stuff out of here by the time I get back from tour." Later he would regret acting so rashly, but it would be years before he'd admit that to Bones.

"What, so just like that, you're ending it?" Bones sounded incredulous, like he couldn't believe that this was happening. "Don't you think we should talk this over?"

"Really Bones, do you honestly believe that there's anything to salvage?" Jim responded. His tone was colder than he meant it to be.

"I don't know Jim, but are you willing to throw five years away, just like that?"

"Is it really so sudden?" Jim asked. "Haven't we been headed to this point for the last year, at least? If you really thought there was something worth saving you'd have come up to Toronto."

Bones' eyes flashed with anger and he opened his mouth to say something but then closed it again. He was quiet for the longest time and, as his expression changed to something that was a cross between guilt and resignation, Jim knew that he was right. "Yeah, so don't be here when I get back."

Jim closed the door behind him and then ran down the stairs. He was glad that he'd brought his leather jacket with him because the night was turning cool. He walked blindly in the city that he loved, lost in thought. Quite a few times he considered finding a payphone and calling Bones to tell him not to go, but then he'd remember that Bones fucked Geoffrey, IN THEIR BED, and to Jim that was unforgivable. He probably would have gotten past the actual infidelity rather quickly, would maybe have realized that yeah, he sort of had it coming, but the symbolism behind the act spoke to him loud and clear. This was Bones' way of saying that it was over, that Jim had gone too far and that he was done. It was obvious that Bones didn't give a shit anymore, regardless of his feeble attempts to talk things out.

During his wanderings, he found himself outside of CBGB's. He hadn't been in the place for a couple of years, not since the band had played there in between their first and second albums. There was a line-up outside, but being who he was he was let in no problem.

The featured band for the night was pretty good. The music was hard and primal and it played right into Jim's mood. He'd stood at the bar and had pounded back a couple of shots; at the moment he was nursing a beer. He ignored any and all come-ons, of which there were quite a few. That was rather ironic, considering that it was his overactive libido that had gotten him into his mess.

He looked around the club he'd been sneaking into since he was sixteen. It really was a dive, but he loved it here, loved all the band posters that papered the walls and ceiling. (GROpe's was on the ceiling above the dance floor. He could still recall the pride he felt the first time he looked up and saw it there, he'd thought his heart was going to burst out of his chest. Bones had been there with him that day, holding his hand and the smile on his face was as bright as Jim knew his own was.) Jim loved the dirty, gritty feel of the place, and its cave-like atmosphere. There was so much history. So many legends, and legends-in-the-making, had graced its stage and Jim was honoured to be among them. Not that he considered himself a legend.

Bones hated it, of course. Yeah, he tolerated coming whenever GROpe had a gig there, but it was always accompanied by grumbling. A lot of things Bones did was accompanied by grumbling, and Jim wasn't in the mood to find it cute, or amusing, or the thousand other things that he had over the years. Of course, he'd never come just for the sake of checking out the bands, and after a time, Jim's visits had become less frequent. That that had as much to do with his life getting busy and less with Bones' disdain of the place, was a fact that Jim was unwilling to acknowledge. Right now, everything was Bones' fault.

"Kirk, long time, no see," he jumped when some guy clapped him on the shoulder.

He turned and recognition came slowly to his fuzzy mind. "Tony," he said after staring at the guy for a couple of seconds. Tony was a couple of inches shorter than Jim, had dark hair and eyes, and a crooked nose from one too many brawls. He and Jim had been in high school together. They'd been on friendly terms, but weren't what you would call friends. Back then he'd been a guy Jim had gotten his weed from.

"Yeah, it's me," he said after he ordered a beer. "Surprised to see you around here, heard you were on tour."

"I was, I am," Jim said. "I'm just back into town for a few a days."

"Yeah? You don't look all that happy to be here," Tony observed.

"Eh, didn't turn out quite like I planned," Jim could tell that Tony was waiting for him to elaborate, not out of concern, but for a good piece of gossip. Jim wasn't drunk enough that he'd let his tongue get away from him. "Hey, I want something other than this," he nodded at his beer, "think you can help me out?"

If Tony was disappointed that Jim hadn't spilled, he didn't show it, and he seemed more than happy at the prospect of a sale. "Sure thing, but not here, come into my office," Tony said and walked toward the back of the club. Jim followed him down the stairs and into the men's room. He was happy to see that Tony's inventory had expanded since high school. He bought a couple grams of coke, and promised Tony that if it was as pure as he said it was, he'd probably be back for more.

"If I have any left, business is pretty brisk around here," Tony said, and to prove his point he was approached by a new customer.

Jim wandered back upstairs. The band was coming off stage and one of the members recognized him. Jim accepted their offer to join them in the dressing room, if the little box of a room that was furnished with a couple of cheap plastic chairs and a beat up Formica table could be called that.

The band turned out to be fans of GROpe, but they weren't obnoxious about it. Jim found that having knowledgeable conversation, peppered with only a smattering of star-struck awe, took his mind off his troubles for a short while. He did a couple lines of coke and, feeling grateful for the diversion that these guys had provided, he shared the rest of what he'd bought. It wasn't a big deal; he'd just hunt Tony down before he left.

When it was time for the band to go back on, Jim wasn't at all surprised when they asked him if he'd like to join them for a song or two; he'd readily agreed. On his way through the little hallway that led back to the stage he ran into Tony who was just coming up from the men's room.

"Busy night?" Jim asked.

"You could say that," Tony answered, and then he tilted his head toward the stage. "You going on?"

"Yeah, why not? It's been a while since I've played a club. Might be fun."

"Think I'll stick around to watch, then."

"In that case hang onto this for me, will you?" Jim asked, and then threw his jacket at Tony.

Whadda I look like, your personal butler?" Tony groused, but he hung on to it just the same.

"Thanks man," Jim winked at him and jumped up on the stage when the band introduced him.

They decided to go with "Pretty Vacant" by the Sex Pistols. Jim felt a little out of sorts, he wasn't used to being up on stage without Marilyn. Once upon a time he and the guys had contemplated bringing a forth member into GROpe so that Jim could be the straight up front guy, but he didn't want to give up playing the guitar, nor did he want anyone else singing his songs in his place. In the end they'd stayed a three piece, and he thought it worked for the best.

He stood at the mike stand with his feet shoulder width apart, and wrapped his hands around the mike. He kept his eyes closed while the guitar started into the intro of the song. It was one of the three chord, three note ones that Bones like to deride so much. "Fuck Bones," he whispered, and then got angry that he was letting Bones intrude here.

When the drums entered, Jim started bouncing on his toes and counting off in his head. It was a tricky thing, performing completely unpractised with a group of guys he didn't know. "There's no point in asking you'll get no reply," he belted out. He compensated for not having Marilyn by hanging onto the mike stand and dancing with it. At one point he stood at the edge of the stage, with the mike stand raise over his head and he teetered there pretending that he might just fall forward into the crowd, but he jumped back laughing when an overzealous fan actually tried to pull him down. Until that moment he hadn't realized how much he missed the intimacy of playing in clubs. Oh sure, playing in front of 20,000 people was a rush that he wouldn't want to give up, but he couldn't help the feeling that he'd had earlier in the day that maybe he got there too soon. That thought lead back to reason why he was here to begin with. All of his emotions concerning Bones erupted inside of him, and his light-footed dancing turned into stomping and swinging. When he should have been easing into the closing chorus by repeating "pretty vacant," he was actually screaming "fuck you, Bones," at the top of his lungs and smashing the mike stand into the stage. He was lost in his own headspace and it was some time before the angry screech of feedback penetrated his mental fog. When he finally did come back to himself, the place had gone deathly silent and the guys in the band, along with everyone in the bar, were staring at him. It was probably the first time in his life that he was embarrassed to be the centre of attention.

"Fuck, sorry about your mike stand." His hands were trembling as he pulled out his wallet and shoved a handful of bills at the lead singer, then jumped off the stage and headed for the exit. He was on the street when Tony caught up to him.

"Kirk, you forgot your jacket," he said, and tossed it towards Jim.

"Thanks," Jim said with little emotion.

"So love life troubles, huh?"

"Yeah," he replied, and turned to leave.

"Oh Kirk, I put a little something in your pocket for later," Tony said. "It might help take your mind off things."

"Ok, thanks," Jim said flatly. He just wanted to get the hell out of there, and he hurried down the street with his jacket slung over his shoulder.

After leaving CBGB's he walked for hours, stopping at several quiet bars along the way. Sometime close to dawn he finally stumbled home. Bones wasn't there. Jim hadn't expected him to be, but the part of him that needed Bones in his life had hoped that he would have disregarded what he'd said and stuck around.

Jim was exhausted, but didn't know if he'd be able to sleep. He'd walked into their bedroom but had stopped in the doorway when he saw that the bed was still unmade. He was assaulted anew by feelings of betrayal when he saw the evidence of what had happened in it. There was no way he'd be able to sleep there, so he turned and made his way back into the open area of the loft. Their sofa wasn't the most comfortable thing to sleep on, but he was surprised five hours later when he cracked his eyes and sunlight was streaming in the room. He rolled over into the couch and buried his face along the back of it. His head was pounding, his eyes felt like sandpaper, and he was sure that someone had abandoned a garbage truck in his mouth. He dozed on and off until early afternoon before he got up. He had a shower and changed into some clean clothes, which he'd avoided going into their bedroom to get because the overnight bag that he'd brought with him was still by the door.

He wandered into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator door with the intent to find something to eat, but the thought of food made his stomach roil. Instead he grabbed a beer —which had probably been there since before he left on tour — opened it, and downed it in two gulps.

He grabbed another, and wandered around the loft while sipping on it. His masochistic tendencies lured him back into the bedroom. This time he was able to make it to the bed, he even managed to sit on the edge of the mattress, and then lay down with his face buried in Bones' pillow. He'd never thought his heart was capable of breaking, but with the lingering scent of his lover and another that was not his own surrounding him, he was beginning to learn how wrong he was. Which just served to piss him off; he wasn't about to mope around, or cry into his cheatin' ex's pillow. Besides he was a rock star, not a country singer, and with that thought in mind, he jumped up, found his leather jacket and left their loft with a determined mind of what he had to do.

A couple hours later he pulled up in front of their building in a U-Haul. He didn't really need something that big, but it had been available, and he was a man on a mission. With a little pushing and pulling, and the thing falling over on him a few times, he managed to get the mattress along with the bedding, out the door and then into the van.

 

He drove into New Jersey and once he was on the other side of the Holland Tunnel he stopped at the first service station that he came upon. He picked up a five gallon gas can and had that filled. He also bought a couple of lighters and a pack of matches; he'd thought of buying a bag of marshmallows, but figured that might be overkill.

He got onto the Turnpike and headed south into farming country. He remembered visiting a friend of his grandfather's out that way when he was a kid, and knew that there were a lot lonely roads with empty fields that would serve his purpose. Driving down one such road, he found the perfect place. It looked to be an abandoned farmhouse that was hidden from the road by trees and bushes, with an empty field behind it. He pulled the mattress out of the back of the van and dragged it out into the middle of field away from the trees. He cleared the ground, making sure that there was nothing but dirt surrounding the mattress for a good three feet all the way around, and then went back and retrieved the gas can. He doused the mattress and sheets in gasoline, being careful not to let any of it stray away from the mattress, and then he stepped back. He stood poised with the book of matches perched between two fingers. He hesitated for only a second before pulling one off the book and striking it against the flint strip on the back. He set the whole thing aflame and then tossed it at the pile. Everything went up in flames with a great big _woosh_. The heat was intense and the chemicals that the mattress was treated with burned his eyes but he didn't walk away. He propped himself against a tree and watched as it burned.

After a while he was getting twitchy and wished that he hadn't been so generous with the coke that he'd bought the night before, but then he vaguely remembered that Tony had said that he'd left a little something for him when he'd given Jim back his jacket. He'd left it on the passenger's seat of the truck so he got up to retrieve it and then returned to his spot under the tree.

He figured that Tony dealt in all kinds of shit, so he wasn't surprised at what he found when he unwrapped the foil package. Inside was a small square translucent envelope that contained a small amount of brown powder - he'd even been kind enough to provide the necessary tools in the way of a syringe and a cotton ball. Jim held the baggie up so that it was at eye level and stared at it for the longest time. He knew he should just crush it into the ground and forget he'd ever had it, but it wasn't often that Jim Kirk did as he should have done. In the past that attitude had worked for him, lately it blew up in his face — he should have taken that into account.

He turned his attention to the mattress which was now more a smouldering pile of ash than anything else. It was fitting commentary on the state of his relationship with Bones. He looked back to the package he held and thought _fuck it, why the hell not_. What more did he have to lose? It might have been different if he'd been in town and could have gotten more coke, but he was out in the middle of nowhere, hurting more than he ever had in his entire life, and he wanted instant relief.

He knew that he needed something to use as a tourniquet. Tony hadn't bothered to give him that. He looked in the truck but couldn't find anything useful, nor was there anything in his pockets, but as he pulled his hands out of his jeans, his fingers brushed against his belt and he realized that it just might do the trick. He pulled the belt off and when he looked at it he felt another lance of pain in his heart - he had bought it a few years prior when he and Bones had vacationed in Mexico. The brown leather was a good quality, the intricate hand-tooled design veered towards tacky, but since it was a guitar motif, he hadn't been able to resist it. He'd made Bones buy one to match in black leather that looked like a piano keyboard. That had been a good trip — they'd done a fair bit of sightseeing, spent a lot of time on the beach and even more time in bed. They'd also learned the age-old lesson that making love on a beach at midnight was far more romantic in the movies than it was in real life. The sand got everywhere, and even the waves lapping against their naked bodies wasn't enough of a distraction to the grit that made it impossible to do more than kiss and grope a little. That, too, got painful fairly quickly.

Jim's breath caught in his throat when he thought about how much things had gone to hell since that trip--of how much of that was his own fault. He shoved that very uncomfortable revelation aside and focused on his current plans. He hadn't lived a sheltered life, and on occasion he'd seen people shoot up, so he had a vague idea of how the whole thing worked. He knew he had to heat the heroin until it liquefied and he hoped the foil it had been wrapped in would work well enough, since that's all he had. He had no idea if he should heat it first, or get his vein popping. He decided to get the belt on his arm first, and then he would tighten it when he was ready. He didn't think about its history, or Bones, or the consequences of what he was doing — sweet relief was the only thought in his head. He placed the buckle on the inside of his left arm and fed the other end through, and pulled it just tight enough that it would stay put.

Next he walked back to the tree where he had sat to watch the mattress burn and sat down. He ripped open the plastic that the syringe was in and then placed the package on the ground at his feet. After that, he poured the powder out of the envelope onto the foil. He was about to heat it from underneath with one of the lighters he'd bought earlier, when he remembered that he needed to add some water to the powder. Since he had nothing, and there was no place around he could get any, he worked up a good amount of saliva in his mouth and used that. The foil did get hot but he managed to heat the powder until it liquefied without burning his fingers too badly. He picked the needle up from where it sat at his feet, pulled it out of its plastic and put the needle end into the syringe. He used the cotton ball that Tony had provided to soak up the liquefied heroin, and then pushed the needle into the middle of it and pulled the plunger back until the smack was sucked in. He pulled his belt tight until his arm started to tingle and then he threaded the end of it between his arm and the leather giving it one last tug to secure it. By now the vein on his forearm was popping and he supposed he'd have an easy time of it.

 _You don't really want to do this._ The voice in his head sounded suspiciously like Bones', and that only served to piss him off and make him more defiant.

"Fuck off," he snarled out loud to no one. "Yeah, I do." He placed the tip of the needle along the vein on his forearm, gritted his teeth when he pressed it through his skin and depressed the plunger.

****

Jim shook his head and took a deep breath to centre himself. It'd been a long time since he'd thought about that day and the shit storm his life had turned into after that — he didn't want to think about it anymore. He squeezed Bones' hand and tried not to feel too despondent when he still didn't respond. The doctor had said it would be hours before they could expect Bones to regain consciousness, and it could be a few days before he was lucid. Jim kissed the top of Bones' hand, then covered it with his own and laced their fingers together before laying it back down on the bed. He scooted the chair back a bit so he could rest his head on their joined hands, then closed his eyes.

He must have fallen asleep because sometime later he was jolted awake when someone brushed their hand across his forehead and down the side of his cheek. "Mom?" It came out strangled and startled as he got his bearings. "What are you doing here?" He asked, as he allowed her to pull him up and gather him into her arms.

"Nyota phoned me last night as soon as she got home from the hospital."

Jim felt a moment's shame when he realized that he hadn't thought to call his mother at all. She'd retired a few years back and had moved to Montpelier, Vermont. She said she was tired of the noise and general congestion of New York and wanted to be someplace where the pace was more sedate. "You must have driven all night to get here," he mumbled into her shoulder.

Winona stepped back and took Jim's face in both her hands, "Don't you do that, Jim Kirk. Don't you feel guilty about what you think you should have done. The only thing you need to worry about right now is Leonard; leave the rest of it to us."

"Yes, Mom," he said without any sarcasm, and then he buried his face in her shoulder again. He felt safe there, as if she could somehow make all the bad stuff go away. Their relationship had had its ups and downs over the years, and perhaps they weren't as close as they could have been, but she was still his mother and he needed her support now. Eventually he pulled away and sat down beside Bones and held his hand again.

"What did the doctor say?" Winona pulled another chair up close to the bed. "As much as it was the top story on the radio, there wasn't a lot of useful information."

Right, Jim hadn't even thought of that, someone would have to arrange for a news conference. He'd thought about asking Winona what they were saying about the gunman, but then realized that he didn't want to know; there'd be time enough for that later. "They got the bullet out and repaired the damage; luckily it didn't hit his heart, and missed his lungs, he was really lucky," He answered his mother. "Now we have to wait for his body to heal. Of course there are a thousand things that can go wrong, but the chances of recovery are higher by every hour."

"He's getting the best possible care here, Jim," his mother said.

"I know, Mom, it's just he looks so pale and there was so much blood. I was so scared." His voice wavered, but he was grateful that the only comfort that Winona offered was a warm hand on his knee; he didn't want to have his breakdown here.

They sat silently for a long time and, surprisingly, it was more comfortable than strained. For the first time in his life, he felt true empathy for what his mother had gone through when his father had been killed. Up until that night he'd always viewed that time through the filter of his own childhood abandonment, and he'd resented her for it. Oh sure that bitterness had lessened dramatically over the years, and she'd been there for him in other ways that were probably far more important, but the shadow of his early years had always tarnished his feelings for her just a little bit.

"I think I finally get what you went through when dad died."

Winona sucked in her breath and her eyes glimmered when Jim looked at her. "I wanted to die right along with him," she whispered. "I probably would have if not for you; you kept me going when nothing else would have. I know it doesn't seem like it, but it's true, Jim."

Jim nodded, leaned forward in his chair, and squeezed her hand. He believed what she said and felt the last bit resentment fall away. They fell into silence again – it was unnecessary to say anything more. At some later date he figured he'd get her tell him more about his father; now just wasn't the time.

Occasionally a nurse would come by to check on Bones. The doctor came in around 9:00 am and was pleased with Bones' condition and said he could be moved out of ICU into his own room.

Shortly after the surgeon left, Nyota and Spock came in. "The vultures have descended," Nyota's tone was full of disgust. Jim noted that no one enforced the rule of only two visitors at a time. One of the perks of celebrity, he supposed.

"The press has gathered at the front of hospital," Spock clarified, though Jim knew exactly what she'd been implying.

"Chris called this morning and said that Enterprise's PR department will take care of dealings with the press, and for you not to worry about it. He also said that he will contact you later," Nyota added.

"You should go home and get some rest Jim," Spock said, "Nyota and I are prepared to stay the day with him."

"No, I'm alright. I'm not going anywhere until he wakes up."

"Jim, you heard the doctor. They're keeping him sedated. It could be days before he's alert," his mother added.

"I'm not leaving him," Jim said stubbornly, and looked each one of them in the eye to let them know he was serious.

Surprisingly they backed off, but Jim knew it was only temporary, and that they would force him to go home soon. Luckily for him, it never came to that. A short time later Bones started to rouse by moaning softly and shifting his body a little. He wasn't coherent and he didn't acknowledge Jim at all, but it was enough to reassure him after looking at a very quiet and unmoving Bones for hours that his lover was still in there somewhere. A nurse came and shooed Jim away from the bed so that she could check on Bones. As she did, she spoke to him and actually received some soft grunts in response to her questions before he seemed to drift back into his drug-induced sleep.

After she left, Jim took up his spot beside the bed again, took Bones' hand in his and started talking to him. "You know, because you just did that, they, which would be Mom, Nyota, and Spock by the way, are going to make me go home and get some rest now. Don't know how much sleep I'll get, but I'm gonna try. Just want you know that, and I'll be back as soon as I can." He stood then leaned over Bones and placed a chaste kiss in the middle of his forehead. Jim didn't know whether to laugh or cry when Bones' forehead crinkled at the contact. He squeezed Bones' hand once more and snuck in one more kiss before he allowed his mother to usher him out of the hospital room.

Pike had arranged for a car to wait for them, but they still had to pass through a group of reporters to get to it. Nyota hadn't been far off with her comment about vultures. As soon as Jim and his mother stepped out of the hospital they were surrounded. Jim kept his head down and pushed his way through the throng. He ignored the questions thrown his way and pulled his mother into the car. He'd have to get Pike to arrange for security, though with the likelihood that Bones was going to pull through, the press would disappear awfully fast. Unfortunately that hadn't happened yet, and he figured that there would be more of this waiting at the condo that he and Bones shared.

The condo that they'd bought together a few years back was in a building that faced the East River. There were only a small handful of reporters there and they didn't even have to fight their way through. The doorman offered his sympathies to Jim as he and his mother passed and then he stepped in front of the entryway, preventing any of the reporters to get into the building.  
Once inside the condo, Winona ordered him to have a shower. She told him she'd get the tea ready and check his phone messages. He went straight into the en suite off his bedroom and turned the water on to get it warm while he undressed. He shuddered when he looked in the mirror and discovered that there was still a smudge of Bones' blood on his neck that he'd missed earlier when he'd washed up at the hospital. He stepped into the shower, and the first place to get his attention was that spot on his neck. He washed up quickly, dried off in the bathroom, and wrapped the towel around his waist before going into the adjacent bedroom that he shared with Bones. He changed into a clean pair of plaid flannel sleep pants and a plain navy blue t-shirt and then wandered out into the living room.

"So are there any messages that need my immediate attention?" Jim asked.

"None, most of them were from reporters wanting an interview. I've turned the ringer off," Winona answered him. She was sitting on the sofa watching CNN. The pot of tea she'd promised was on the coffee table along with a large earthenware mug and some cream and sugar.

Jim nodded as he poured his cup, added some milk and two teaspoons of sugar. Once upon a time he'd have gone straight to the liquor cabinet or, more than likely, to something a lot more potent and definitely illegal. Those days were far behind him and, in fact, there wasn't a drop of liquor in their home. He lowered himself into the chair that sat kitty corner to the sofa and then tucked one leg underneath him and let the other hang down. He sipped his tea and watched the news without paying attention. They were in the middle of the news loop, and the story about Bones was still a headliner. He figured it would be another fifteen minutes or so before it would come up again. He was finally ready to hear about the shooter, see if he could learn anything that would help him make sense of this whole mess. He wondered if the guy had something against him or Bones personally, or if this was just some crazy random act.

The story, when it finally aired again, wasn't very informative. The shooter was in police custody, and he'd been charged with attempted murder. His last name was Nero and from what CNN had been able to gather so far, he belonged to a far right, religiously motivated group, one which thought that modern society was going to hell in a hand basket and leading the charge were homosexuals. It wasn't clear yet if Nero had acted alone or if this was part of some bigger conspiracy to wipe the earth clean of the scourge of homosexuality. After that very brief segment on the shooter – Jim wouldn't think of him by name – they read the statement that Enterprise Records had just released stating that Bones had undergone surgery and barring any unforeseen circumstances would make a full recovery. They also had footage of Jim holding Winona's hand as they'd exited the hospital.

After that they did a retrospective on Bones' life and career. About how he'd been a rising star within the New York Philharmonic, and that he'd resigned his position when his father had taken ill. How he never went back to the Philharmonic, but instead started a new career direction composing music for movies, and that when he did put out an album they always sold well.

There was also a segment on their relationship. They made a big deal about the fact that they were an openly gay couple that had been together on and off for close to twenty years, as if that was news in this day and age. Though, he supposed to some people it was. Considering the state of long-term relationships in the United States for couples of any persuasion, Jim figured the fact that they'd been together so long was more astounding than the fact that they were two men. It was a funny thing that he being bisexual never had much of an impact on his career. He wasn't sure why, though he figured it had something to do with the fact that he'd never been in the closet, never tried to hide who he was, and the bulk of his fans were cool enough not let that get in the way of the music. And the ones who did, were people he could do without anyway.

The story also included mention of Jim's former addiction. That wasn't news either, because he'd always talked about it freely in the hopes that his story might inspire somebody else to get clean. He'd also visited jails and rehab centres to talk with people one on one, but he did that outside of the public eye. It wasn't something he did to bolster his image, but because he was duty bound to give back anyway that he could.

"I think I've seen enough," he said as he grabbed the remote and flicked off the TV. Though he was exhausted, he still felt too restless to sleep. He picked up the acoustic guitar that lived beside the sofa and started to play. He felt more melancholy than despaired now and, with all the thoughts of what had happened to Bones last night, their past, and the mistakes that he had made jumbling around in his head, Jim started strumming random notes. Eventually the song that flowed out of him was an old one from Neil Young.

 _"I caught you knocking at my cellar door,_

  


I love you baby can I have some more 

  


Oh, oh the damage done 

While he was singing his mind drifted back to the day that was another turning point in his life.

 

****

"Get up, Jim, come you, move it." Jim tried to ignore the female voice that was calling to him, and hang on to the last vestiges of sleep. He had no idea what time it was, but considering that sunlight was pouring into his room he knew that it was way too early to be awake. "You're disgusting, get up." It sounded a lot like Nyota. He burrowed into his pillow more and pulled the blanket over his head.

"Come on, laddy, up you get." Fuck Scotty too? And he had the nerve to pull his blankets away.

"Fuck off, both of you," he tried to ignore them.

"Jim, you need to get up, now."

Spock as well? "What the fuck," he actually cracked his eyelids and took an inventory of who had the nerve to interrupt his sleep. Besides the people he'd already accounted for, Sulu, Chekov, Chris Pike and his mother were there as well. It was only at that moment that he became aware of his nakedness and, with an uncharacteristic show of modesty he pulled his blanket out of Scotty's hands to cover himself.

"Oh get over yourself, Kirk, your scrawny ass is nothing special to look at these days."

"You're one to talk Uhura, when was the last time you ate more than a leaf of lettuce, huh?" His words were slurred, from sleep and hangover.

"We're not here to discuss Nyota."

He was quite pleased with himself when he noted Spock's clipped tone, and Nyota's sour look - it appeared that he'd hit a nerve. "No? So why are you here and at this ungodly hour?"

"Ungodly hour? Jim, it's two o'clock in the afternoon," Chekov replied.

"Sun's still up, is too early."

"That doesn't matter. We're here now, you're awake, and we need to talk to you. Get dressed and come out to the living room when you're ready." Pike spoke with the authority of a man who was used to being listened to. Jim noted that his mother looked tense, and hadn't said one word.

He closed his eyes as they filed out of his room, and then scowled when Pike said that he had five minutes before they'd be back. If he moved quickly he'd have enough time to throw on some clothes and shoot up to fortify himself for the lecture that he assumed was coming. He opened his eyes, rolled out of bed and then made a startled noise when he noticed Spock standing on this side of the closed door.

"I thought it would be prudent to stay here, to make sure that you don't do anything but get dressed," he said in way of explanation to the question that had been unasked.

"You really don't trust me, do you?" Jim was offended, despite the fact that he'd had every intention of getting high before he went out to face them.

"You're not very trustworthy of late, Jim." Spock said unapologetically.

Jim was hurt by his friend's words but he didn't dwell on them. He threw on a pair of ratty and stained sweat pants and an old t-shirt that smelled and probably hadn't been washed in months.

"Okay, let's go," he said and headed out into the living room. Everyone stood in the middle of the room and looked around in varying degrees of horror.

"Go on, sit down, get comfortable," Jim said as he flopped down on a grey sofa which had once been white and was covered in stains and burn holes. He still lived in the loft that he and Bones had shared. When he had returned to the tour after they'd broken up, his intention had been to sell the place when he got back to New York, but by the time he'd returned, his addiction had started to take over his life and he couldn't be bothered.

"No, it's fine, we'll stand," Nyota said. Her disgust was evident. Jim looked around, and seeing the place the way they most likely saw it, he felt some embarrassment. He hadn't replaced his cleaning lady after the last one had quit, and the filth had piled up. The floors, the walls and windows were caked with layers of dirt, grime, and dust. There were cans and bottles, not to mention syringes littering the whole apartment, and over in the kitchen area the cockroach problem had gotten out of hand.

"Yeah, whatever." Jim pulled his feet up onto the sofa, wrapped his arms around his legs, and rested his chin on his knees. He scratched absently at some scabs on his arms and his face. Nobody said a word and he started to get antsy in the ensuing silence. "What are you here for? Obviously there's some reason."

Pike cleared his throat, "Well Jim, we've all been worried about you, and we've all hoped that you would take matters into your own hands. It doesn't look like that is going to happen or it's going to be too late before you do come to your senses. You need to get some help."

Jim figured that it was something like that. "I'm fine," he said sulkily.

"Yes, you really look like you're fine," Sulu spoke for the first time. "You look like you haven't eaten in weeks, or had a bath. Hell, for that matter when was the last time you wrote anything?"

"Our last album."

"And it was crap, Jim," Sulu yelled at him.

"It wasn't that bad."

"Yeah, it was. The critics didn't like it, the fans didn't buy it, and radio wouldn't play it. If you ask me, that's an indication that it was a piece of shit."

"So, everyone's allowed to screw up once in their lives."

"And you've had more than your fair share of late. What are you doing to make it better, Jim?" Scotty asked. "You need to get into a treatment program."

"There's nothing wrong," Jim reiterated.

"Nothing wrong? Jim look at you, look at this place. You've just woken up and you need a hit so bad that you're shaking already. Don't tell me there's nothing wrong." Nyota wasn't able to keep calm; she was nearly shrieking by the end of her tirade.

"Yeah, whadda you care for anyway? You always thought I was loser."

"Believe it or not Jim, I care about you and what happens to you. If I didn't, I wouldn't be here. None of us would be."

They went round and round, one person after another stating that they cared for him and that they wanted to see him get better. But they also told him how his addiction affected them and how if he didn't go, now, today, he wouldn't be re-signed with Enterprise Records when his contract up. If that happened, Sulu and Scotty didn't see how they'd be able to continue with him; in short, they'd kick him out. That made him angry, he was the one who wrote most of the songs and was the face of the band, if they thought that they could make a go of it without him, then they were welcome to try. He continued to assert that he was just fine, thank you very much, that he didn't have a problem, that he did heroin just for the hell of it. The badgering, as he called it in his mind, was getting to him and he started to pace the room.

"I can quit, whenever I want," he finally yelled in frustration. He had his back to everyone and was staring out the window.

"Jim, you need to go." He nearly jumped out of his skin when his mother laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and whispered close to his ear. He was surprised and shamed to see unshed tears welling up in her eyes when he turned towards her. It was the first time that she'd spoken since they'd all descended on him. "There's a place in Pennsylvania, they'll take you today, you can stay there... you need to go, Jim," she repeated herself, and brushed her hand against his cheek, "I need you to go." His mother's soft-spoken pleading and her tear-filled eyes almost got through his defences, but it was Pike who finally tipped the balance.

"What's the matter Jim? Are you too scared to get better, too afraid to face life, for all its good and bad, head on?" Pike's words were without mercy, but they held no scorn.

Jim's stomach clenched in anger and he nearly exploded at the accusation. "I'm not a coward, I'm not afraid of anything," he spat out.

"No? I look at you and that's exactly what I see." Pike caught Jim's eye and levelled a challenging stare at him. "You're not a coward? Then prove it. I dare you to go through rehab. I dare you to get better."

He should have gotten angrier and more defensive, but there was something in the way that Pike spoke to him that charged Jim up.

"Fine I'll go. I'll get better and I'll stay clean." It wasn't as if he'd never thought of getting clean, hell there'd even been a couple half-assed attempts, but Pike had been correct when he'd said that Jim had been too afraid. He'd been using some sort of illegal substance since he'd been in his early teens, and the idea of not having the crutch that he'd lived with a good portion of his life, scared the living daylights out of him. But this time something clicked inside of him and he knew that he'd actually do it.

 

Once he agreed, there was a flurry of activity. He was pushed into the shower before he could change his mind, told to have a quick wash up and to brush his teeth. When he emerged, new, clean clothes had mysteriously appeared; he assumed they were courtesy of Nyota, who had a talent for being extremely efficient. They hung off him because he'd lost so much weight, but they were still better than anything that he owned. Once he was changed he was whisked out the door and into Pike's BMW. He, Jim, and Winona made the drive to Pennsylvania.

****

 _I've seen the needle and the damage done_

  


A little part of it in everyone

  


But every junkie's like the setting sun

 

Jim's voice cracked a little as he sang the last verse of the song, and when he looked over at his mother she had a lone tear running down her cheek.

"You've come a long way since that day, Jim." He didn't even find it weird that they were both remembering the same thing.

"I know, I'm lucky you guys were there." He yawned big as he said that, and he was grateful for the excuse to change the subject. "I think that's my cue to at least to try to sleep." He put his guitar back on its stand, kissed Winona on the top of her head and then wandered off to his bedroom. He knew that she'd be able to keep herself occupied, and that she was quite capable of setting up the guest room if she wanted to sleep.

The first thing that caught his eye when he walked in was a wooden trinket box that always sat on Bones' dresser. The box had a beautiful mahogany finish and it had belonged to Bones' father. In it, he'd kept the mementos (letters to and from his wife, their wedding bands, and some special photos) of his life that were important to him. Jim and Bones had continued that tradition, adding their own memories to David McCoy's collection. Jim picked up the box, and then climbed into bed.

He sat propped up on pillows in the bed that he and Bones shared with the box in his lap. He ran his fingers over the fine grain of the wood; after they had reunited it had been Bones' idea to put the letters that had gotten them back together in there.

Rehab had not been easy. In fact, the first few days while he'd detoxed had been some of the worse of his life. They were a haze of vomit, chills, leg shakes and a thousand other things he never wanted to experience again. He'd never felt so helpless, never cried so much in his life. It had been a living hell. His stay had been for three months. Once the heroin was out of his system and other aspects of his treatment had started, the time there was almost bucolic, except for the fact that he was delving into some very painful parts of his life. Still, it had been safe, and he'd felt insulated there.

He'd made the decision near the end of his time that he would go to his mother's instead of the loft. There were too many bad memories associated with the place, not to mention that he was afraid to be on his own for the first little while. During his time in rehab, his mother and Nyota had taken charge of getting the loft liveable again, or as it turned out, into a saleable condition. It had cost him a few thousand dollars for the cleaning agency, exterminator, and junk removal company. Only a few items, mainly his guitars, the notebooks that he wrote in, his book and music collections, photos and mementos from his career had been saved, the rest of his household items, including most of his clothes had been deemed not worth salvaging.

He had stayed with his mother for close to two months until he found the apartment that was perfect for him. He didn't have a lot to unpack and it hadn't taken him long to get his things sorted out. All his furniture was newly purchased and delivered from the places he'd bought it from, and he'd picked up only the most essential household items - everything else he decided he'd get as needed. By the time that first evening had rolled around, he'd had nothing else to put away and once he was on his own, he'd decided it was time for him to make his amends to Bones.

He took the letters out of the box, put them into order, and then began to read them.

****

 

 _Dear ~~Len~~ Bones_

I'm not sure if you'll read this letter, or if you threw it out as soon as you saw the return address, I wouldn't blame you if you did. However, if you are reading this I'm grateful and will explain its purpose. I don't know if you are aware at all of what's been going on in my life. Don't worry, as hard as it may be to believe, I'm not so egotistical to think that you've been following me from afar hoping for any glimpse of me that you can get, but I know my life has been splashed across the tabloids for months now, so it is possible that you have an inkling. Also, I know that you and Nyota still keep in very close contact, and she may have said something. Or not--she's very tight lipped when it comes to you and how you are doing, and she may be the same when it comes to me. All she's told me is that you're in Georgia taking care of your father, but beyond that, she says it's not her place to tell.

Anyway, back to the purpose of this letter. As you may or may not know, I have gone through a rehab program. I attend AA and NA meetings regularly, and I've been clean and sober close to six months now. That may not seem like a lot, but after the hell my life has been for longer than I can remember, everyday that I go to bed as sober as I was when I woke up is a blessing—hell, any morning that I wake up with a clear head is a miracle. One of the steps is to make amends to the people in my life that I have wronged. The list is a long one Bones (I hope you don't mind me calling you that, I tried Len, but you have been and always will be Bones to me) and you're at the top of the list of people who I've hurt. I'm sorry to say that you're not the first one that I've said sorry to, I think I've had to work my way up to you because the list of wrongs is a long one, and the things I've done have been so very difficult to revisit. So here goes:

I'm sorry for:

\- Every nasty thing I ever said to you while I was drunk or stoned, I never meant any of it  
\- Every plan that had to be cancelled because I was incapable of going  
\- Every time that I embarrassed you in public with my outrageous behavior  
\- I'm sorry for all the times that I cheated on you with other women. I'm more ashamed of that than simple words can convey. Since I'm being honest I won't even try to blame that on my addiction. It's painful to admit, but that probably would have happened anyway. Not because I was unhappy with you, you have always been an amazing person, or because our sex life was dull, far from it. We were smokin' together and I loved you. But I suppose like the drugs, I used those women to try to fill a void inside of me, to make me feel worth something. It didn't work, obviously. It's something that I'm working on now, to like myself, to accept myself with all of my imperfections, and know that I'm ok, warts and all. It ain't easy, but I'm trying.  
\- For anyway else that I may have caused you pain, and don't remember, I truly am sorry.

I hope you are well, and that your father is not terribly ill. I know he was never thrilled with our relationship, but he did a good job of hiding his disappointment, and he's always been nice to me. Please send him my best.

Sincerely,  
Jim

****

Jim,

I have to admit I wasn't taken completely by surprise when I received your letter this morning. I knew that you'd been in rehab, and Nyota told me that you've been continuing with NA and AA. I'm aware of the making amends aspect of the program, so I guess I was expecting to hear from you eventually. I can tell you honestly that it never entered my mind to throw your letter away without reading it.

I appreciate the sentiment, and I believe that your apologies are sincere. I was hurt and angry for the longest time. These days, when I think about us, I'm just sad. Normally, what I remember is the end when we were so bitter and spiteful to one another. I remember the fights, the nights when you never came home, and I remember the women. It was only much later after we broke up that it hit me that you were never with other men, and I've often wondered if there was some significance in that. Then I think about how good we were when we started out. We had a good solid friendship Jim, and it pains me that we let it go to shit. And I do mean me as much as you. Sure, it would be easy to let you take the blame for everything, but that wouldn't be fair.

This is where I offer up my apology for what happened with Geoffrey. At the time, I honestly felt that I was justified. You weren't being discreet and your exploits on tour were splashed across the tabloids — what would it matter if I had a little something on the side myself? My thinking then was that you should just suck it up, that a bit of your own medicine might wake you up. It was a total shock to me when you ended it without even trying to reconcile. It was many months, a couple years actually, before I accepted that I was wrong to do what I did. That bringing Geoffrey into our bed was a terrible thing to do and, even though it was only that once, it was as bad if not worse than what you were doing. The realization came one day when I was in a park, and I happened to be watching two boys around the age of six playing together in the sandbox, when right out of the blue one of the boys hauled off and slugged the other one. When his mother questioned him about it, his response was that Boy One hit him yesterday and he was just getting him back for it. His mother responded with the age-old "two wrongs don't make it right," and a lot of other things that mother's say to their children. It hit me then, like a punch to the gut that as simple and cliché as that saying is, it's true. No matter how much I was hurt by your actions, the absolutely worst thing that I could have done was what I did do. I should have confronted you about what was going on, should have tried to make sense out of what was happening and why you were doing what you were; I could have walked away. I should have done any of those things, instead I lashed back in the one way that I knew would hurt you if you ever found out, maybe not deliberately, but the thought was there in the back of my mind. And for that, Jim, I am sorry.

Looking over what I just wrote, I'm surprised I've been so open with my feelings. I'm sure I wouldn't have had we been face to face. It feels good to let you know what I've been thinking, and I feel a weight lifted that I didn't know was there. Thank you for the opportunity to do that.

About my father; he's very ill, and I don't believe that he's going to last much longer. It's difficult for me to talk about, so I hope you don't take offence when this is all I can say at the moment. I told him that you said hi, and he says hello back, and sends his best to you. He always did like you Jim; he just wasn't thrilled that it was a man that I'd fallen in love with, though he did learn to live with it.

It was good to hear from you Jim, take care of yourself

Len

P.S. It's okay if you call me Bones, it means you don't hate me.

****

Hi Bones

I hope you don't mind that I'm writing you again. I never hated you, could never hate you, and I hope you feel the same about me.

Of course I accept your apology. At the time I was devastated, I didn't understand how you could do something like that to me. Yes I know, that sounds terribly hypocritical, and quite narcissistic, but that's not how I mean it. I always assumed that you would be faithful to me no matter what, that just seems to be your nature. That no matter how much I fucked up, or how badly I treated you, I just figured you'd always be there and we'd work it out. Granted, at the time, I didn't see how messed up things had become until you decided not to visit me in Toronto, and by then it was too late. You may be right when you say that we're both to blame for the breakdown of us, but I still think that I shoulder the lion's share of it. We may have been able to work things out, I don't know, but I do know that I wish hadn't given up so easily, but by the time I got back to New York from the tour I had a new mistress, and she was a selfish bitch.

Of all the people that have come and gone in my life, I'm most sorry that I let you slip through my fingers. I miss your friendship as much if not more than I do being your lover. (I see what you mean about saying stuff on paper that you would never say face to face).

That's terrible news about your father, Bones. There's nothing that can be done for him? It explains why you gave up your position with the Philharmonic, though I bet they would have held your place and let you go on sabbatical if you had pushed it. How are you doing through all of this? I hope there is someone there for you to lean on. If I know you half as well as I think I do, I'm sure that you're running yourself ragged taking care of your dad. Which is admirable, but you don't do anyone any good if you don't take care of yourself as well. Please take the time to eat and sleep properly, and accept any offers of help that come your way. Something that I've learned in the last six months or so, is that it is ok to lean on other people when you have to. It's not a sign of weakness.

Sending you all my best

Jim

****

  
Dear Jim

I have to say that hearing from you again was a surprise, but not an unpleasant one.

If I could do the time that we were together over again, there are many things I would do differently. Unfortunately that just isn't possible. All we can do is live and learn, and I think we both have. It helps to know that you feel deep regret over what happened, and I hope that I have been able to give you the same relief. I wish things had turned out differently, because I miss you too Jim; I miss the same things you do.

Thank you for your concern about me and my dad. I'm taking as good of care of myself as I can. I may not be leaning on people as much as I could be, but to be honest, Jim, there haven't been many offers, due to the nature of my father's illness. Nyota and Spock help when they can, but their lives are in New York and they can only come down here sporadically. Though it's a damn sight more than my dad's sister does — she's practically turned her back him.

The most surprising show of support that I have gotten has come from Jocelyn and Clay Treadway. Yes, they got married. In fact, Jocelyn is my father's physician, but her help, and Clay's for that matter, goes far beyond the role of physician and patient. It surprises me to say that I don't think I'd be faring half as well as I am without them. It's funny the turns that life takes sometimes. Never thought I'd have much of anything to do with her again, and yet here she is, lending her support in what is truly one of the hardest times of my life. She's a good doctor, and she's been wonderful to my father, I can forgive a lot because of that.

I've spoken to my Dad, and he's given his permission for me to tell you what is wrong with him. He had gallbladder surgery a few years ago and contracted AIDS from the blood transfusion he received. So many people are scared to be near him now. It breaks my heart and makes me so angry that people who have known him his entire life -- who have respected and loved him -- have now turned their backs on him when he needs them the most. I know it's frightening and there is still so much that is unknown about this disease, but with a few simple precautions people can protect themselves, there's no need to shun him. At least Jocelyn and the nurses that come to the house are comfortable around him and treat him well.

I've heard more than one person whisper that the wrong McCoy got the disease - that a man who has lead a very moral upstanding life gets a disease that is associated with fags, hookers, and drug users, and his son who is a fag, is clean as a whistle. On my worse days, I can't help but agree with them, and on the not so bad ones, I at least wonder at the irony.

What about you Jim? How are you doing? Are you and the band working on anything new? I would bet that your time in rehab and coming clean has given you a mountain of material.  
I look forward to hearing from you again; your letters brighten my days when they arrive.

All my best

Len

****

Bones

Holy fuck, man. I just read your letter and my heart is breaking for you and your dad. I don't know what to say. People can be such assholes sometime. I'm not nearly as gracious as you are. I'd like to tell you to fuck 'em all, you don't need them, but the sad fact of the matter is that right now you do. I'm glad to hear that Nyota and Spock are doing what they can for you, and Jocelyn and Clay, huh? I guess there's more to her than just a bubbly flirt. I'm glad that you two are able to put the past behind you.

If there's anything I can do for you Bones, please don't hesitate to ask. If you want to talk, feel free to call me anytime. My phone number is ###-###-####.

I was tested for HIV and hepatitis while I was in rehab, and so far I'm clean. I didn't often share my needles, but still, looking at how I lived my life then and not to mention that a few short years ago, unsafe sex was the norm, I'd say it's a bloody miracle that I am clean. It is hard not to feel guilty sometimes, and I can just imagine how it's eating you up.

As for me, I'm doing good, excellent in fact. I haven't felt this healthy in years. I've gained weight, mostly muscle, and I'm told it looks good on me. You're right, I've been writing like crazy and I haven't been this creative in a long, long, time. I think our next album will be amazing. Whether it'll be commercially viable, who knows, I don't really care, just so long as we're happy with it. I've been looking at the darker corners of myself in my writing, and it hasn't been a picnic - there are some pretty bleak days still. I suppose there always will be. I guess that's part of recovery though, learning how to deal with those moments.

I meant what I said Bones, call me anytime if you need someone to talk to.

Always your friend

Jim.

****

Jim rubbed his eyes as he finished reading the last letter. There weren't any more because Bones had taken him up on his offer to call and, from that point on, the written communication had ceased since they talked at least once a day. That first phone call hadn't gone the way that Jim had hoped that it would. It had lasted less than fifteen minutes and the conversation had been awkward and stilted – full of more pregnant pauses and dead air than any meaningful words. After they'd said their goodbyes, Jim's gut clenched with the fear that it had been farewell forever, and the weight of his disappointment was almost too much to bear. He'd berated himself for being naive and too optimistic to think that with just a couple of letters – regardless of how utterly open and frank they had been – that he and Bones would have been able to pick up as if there weren't mountains of hurt and oceans of blood between them.

He was faced with the very real possibility that he wouldn't hear from Bones again, and it shredded his insides. He knew that the ball was still in Bones' court and he'd have to wait for him to make the next move. Might have been different if he'd given Jim his number, but he hadn't. Sure it would be easy enough to track it down, but that wasn't the point. Bones hadn't given Jim his permission and, as much as it went against everything that he was not to just barge right in and take what he wanted, he knew he had to respect Bones' wishes. For a week at least; he wouldn't be him if he didn't try one more time, and he wasn't going to make the same mistake that he'd made the last time by cutting off all communication. Also, he had a real concern for how Bones was holding up, and that alone meant that he'd check up on him. And maybe he had to be content with that.

Turned out that all of his hand-wringing and gnashing of teeth was for naught, as the very next night at exactly 8:00 pm., his phone rang. His knuckles were white and his fingers hurt from the force of his grip on the receiver as he brought it to his ear. The very soft, unsure, "Hey Jim," that he was met with loosened his fingers, and the weight that he'd been carrying with him all day fell away at the sound of Bones' voice.  
That call hadn't started out much better than the one the night before, but this time Jim took the bull by the horns so to speak and acknowledged the awkwardness between them.  
"I guess we were both fools to think that there wouldn't be," had been Bones' response. Then he blew Jim's mind and made his heart soar when he stated that he hoped that they'd be able to get past that and have some sort of friendship again. And, holy shit, didn't it get better after that. Jim had even managed to make Bones laugh once before he hung up that night with the promise between them to talk the next night.  
The phone calls continued, and every day their talks were freer and looser than the day before. Sometimes they spoke of inconsequential things, but neither one was afraid to say when they were having a bad day, and just needed someone to gripe to. Jim liked being that guy for Bones. A little over a month after they'd started the telephone calls, Jim traveled down to Georgia to lend what help he could to Bones. All the tracks for GROpe's latest album had been laid down, and everyone had agreed to let him have the time off when he'd asked for it. He was glad that he didn't have to act the spoiled rock star and throw temper tantrum to get what he wanted, but he would have if he'd had to.

 

Before he went he had a long, honest conversation with his NA sponsor about the personal risk that he was taking. Bones' father had been prescribed some heavy-duty narcotics for his pain that would be easily available. It was a valid concern that it might be too soon for Jim to be around that sort of temptation after his recent exit from rehab. His sponsor admitted that even someone who was ten or twenty years into their recovery could have difficulty dealing. Jim didn't make any hasty decisions, but after a lot of contemplation and soul searching, he felt that Bones' need for support, along with his need to make up for some of his past mistakes was worth the risk. Of course, he went down armed with a list of locations and times of NA and AA meetings in the area. He had his sponsor's number, and he was also given the name of someone in the area that he could call in case of an emergency. And measures had been put into place so that David's medications were closely monitored and stored securely. Once he was in Savannah, Jim was pleasantly surprised in the first few days when he wasn't even tempted.

They didn't fall back into being a couple right away; besides that was not why Jim was there. He was there to lend his support to Bones as a friend, and that's all there was to it. If he harboured some unrealistic hope that someday they could be the couple Jim-and-Bones again, it was one he kept buried and well hidden. It was not the time for romantic fantasies.

Bones' dad was gravely ill. David had contracted pneumonia and Bones was run ragged taking care of him. He refused to have his father's last days spent in the sterile environment of the hospital. David McCoy wanted to die at home, and his son was going to do his best to make sure that his wish was honoured. Jim was more concerned about making sure that Bones was eating, sleeping, and taking care of his general hygiene. Nyota and Spock had managed to arrange their schedules so that they could be with Bones too, in what everyone knew would probably be the end of this leg of the journey. Between Spock, Nyota, Jocelyn, and Clay, the house was kept clean and any errands that needed to be done were taken care of.

Jocelyn and Jim came to an uneasy peace one afternoon. When he'd first read that she and Bones were on friendly terms again, he'd been extremely jealous that they had been able to patch things up between them and, even though he and Bones seemed to be headed in the same direction, he had no idea if their renewed friendship would last past Bones' time of need. She was wary of him, too. They'd both hurt Bones deeply in the past, and they each felt protective of him now.

"You know he still has feelings for you?" Jocelyn had asked him that afternoon. Jim had been sitting on the swing on the covered veranda of the big old house that had been in Bones' family for generations, and she swooped down on him, making herself comfortable beside him. "I hope you'll keep that in mind while you're here and not take advantage of that."

Jim bristled at her words. "I'm here because Bones needs me to be, and I'll do what I can for him."

"Just be careful that you don't string him along, Jim. If you have no intention of picking up where you left off, you better make that clear right now."

"Look, I don't know what you think is going on, but the last thing on Bones' mind right now is igniting the flame that went out five years ago. He needs people to lean on, and I'm here for him."

"That's just it, Jim, he's relying on you for most of his emotional support. It's you he turns to at the end of the day, it's your pat on the shoulder that eases his tension just a little bit, and I'm just telling you that it's obvious to everyone here that his feelings for you still run very deep. Don't be surprised when he starts to act on them at some point down the road."

"How do you know I don't feel the same toward him, that I don't want the same thing?"

"But is it a good idea, Jim? You two practically destroyed each other back then, how do you know it won't happen again?" Jim wanted to be angry with her, but she was voicing thoughts that he'd had himself. Also he knew that she was saying these things out of a real concern for Bones, and for that Jim couldn't fault her.

"Because we've both changed, we're not the same as we were then. If what you say is true, what hasn't changed is how we feel about each other. Look, think what you will of me, but I'm not going to take advantage of this situation. By the same token, though, I have no intention saying no to Bones if someday he wants to move beyond friendship. But knowing Bones that's a pretty big _if_ "."

That seemed to mollify her somewhat and they settled into an almost comfortable silence as they rocked together on the swing.

After a while Jim felt a prickling sensation on his neck like he was being stared at and when he turned towards Jocelyn he was met with contemplative cornflower blue eyes.

"What?"

"Something I've always been curious about is how you went from calling him Lenny to calling him Bones."

Surprisingly her question made him feel awkward and just a little bit embarrassed for her, but since she asked he figured that she deserved to know the truth. "Well, um, you know the walls in my mom's house weren't as thick as they appeared to be, and you weren't exactly quiet that night you stayed over," he scratched behind his neck, and ducked his head as he responded to her. Her loud, unabashed laughter was not what he was expecting to hear, and he had a tentative grin on his face when he turned to look at her.

"I assumed it was something like that. I bet that Len wasn't all that crazy about the moniker, I'm surprised he let you call him that."

"Do you know me at all?" Jim laughed, and all of his discomfort disappeared. "As if that would stop me — actually he didn't put up as much of a fight as you'd expect. Part of me thinks that he was flattered." Jocelyn gave him a funny look at that. "No really, think about it. It's a constant homage to what he's hiding in his pants, even if the only people who actually know are anyone that he's ever slept with." That list was rather short, and it did include one name Jim wished it didn't, but he wasn't going to go there.

"Yes I, suppose you have something there. Even so, I don't expect he'd want the real story broadcast, and I'm certainly grateful that you've kept it to yourself."

"Yeah, I bet," Jim snickered and elbowed her playfully. She hit him back, then stood up, "I need to go check on my patient, but I'm glad we had this chance to talk." She didn't say anything more, but the look in her eyes made it clear that she expected Jim to guard her Lenny/his Bones' heart better than either one of them had in the past.

****

Two days after that conversation with Jocelyn, David McCoy, MD passed with his son Leonard and his support group at his bedside. At the time of his death, his doctor, Jocelyn Treadway was present, which negated the need for an autopsy to be performed. The official cause of death was Pneumocystis pneumonia, and if anyone was suspicious that he went quicker than he should have, regardless of his condition, not a word was said, and the higher than normal levels of morphine were not detected in his bloodstream.

Jim had been in the room when, in a moment of absolute lucidity, David told his son that he needed Len to speak to Jocelyn, because he wanted to end his pain. He knew he wasn't going to get better, and that all they were doing now was prolonging the inevitable. He'd put up a good fight, but he was tired and he was ready to go. Len didn't say anything, he just held his father's hand in his and brushed his forehead with the other. "Please Len," he'd begged, then turned to Jim, "if he won't do it, will you?" Jim had had to choke back a sob, but he nodded his head. That seemed to calm David, and after a few minutes he fell back into a drug-induced sleep.

Bones was furious with him, Jim could tell, but the spectacular outburst that he'd expected as soon as they were out of David's room never came. That would have been welcome; Bones' slumped shoulders and the betrayal etched into his face when he looked at Jim before turning away from him was far worse.

"Bones," Jim didn't mean to sound so unsure and scared, but he couldn't help it.

"What do you want me to say, Jim? You just told my father that you'd help him kill himself." Not exactly, but Jim wasn't going to argue the point. There was no animosity in his words, just the sad defeated voice of a son who was about to lose his only living parent. "I'm not ready for this, Jim, I'm not." And as he said the words, he crumpled, physically and emotionally, in a way that he hadn't throughout the entire ordeal. Jim was quick to grab him and sink down onto the floor with him. They sat on the hardwood in the darkened hallway, and Jim held Bones tight while he sobbed openly on his shoulder. He had no idea how long they were there. Long enough that wracking sobs had dissipated to the occasional sniffle and hiccup to catch a breath. It was even longer before Bones spoke.

"I know he's not going last long, but what if he does pull through this time?"

"What's waiting for him Bones? More pain, more drug-induced sleep, more wasting away in a bed knowing that the best part of his life is gone, and that all he has to look forward to is that it's just not going to get better. And it's not as if he's ever pain free and lucid enough to read, or even watch TV."

"But it's not up to us to decide. We shouldn't play God, we should just let nature take its course."

"I get what you're saying, Bones, and I sympathize with you, but..."

"Jim," Bones interrupted him with a heavy sigh, "I don't know, I don't feel like it's my decision to make."

"You're not making it, your Dad already has. He just can't do it alone, he's not strong enough," Jim said as gently as he possibly could. There was more he could have said, but he felt that it wasn't necessary, that Bones just needed a little bit of time to make his peace. Regardless of what he'd promised David McCoy, if his son couldn't bring himself to carry out his father's wishes, Jim wouldn't either. He was willing to be the one who let David down and bear the brunt of his disappointment if it came to that. "Why don't you just talk with Jocelyn, like he asked?"

Bones nodded at the suggestion. The two got to their feet and then went to phone Jocelyn to ask her to come to the house as soon as it was convenient for her. She made it within the hour.

"So he did ask you," Jocelyn had said, after Bones had told her bluntly what his father had asked of him and Jim earlier.

"You mean you knew he was thinking about this?" Bones' tone wavered between incredulous and angry. "And you didn't think you should warn me?"

"Doctor patient confidentiality, Len, you know I couldn't."

"You couldn't have made an exception?" Bones asked. He was getting angry again and without thinking Jim laid a calming hand on his shoulder and left it there.

"You know I couldn't," she said firmly. "Even now I'm probably saying too much. He's spoken to me a few times regarding this issue; mostly our talks have been theoretical. Yesterday he broached the subject again, but he made it clear that he was asking me to help him." She took a deep breath then looked Bones straight in the eye. "I told him he needed to speak to you if he was serious, and then he'd have to talk with me again."

"You're really okay with this? You'd do it if you felt that this is what he really wants."

"Len, I've anguished over this issue. I knew that eventually I'd have a patient who would ask this of me. The question I've had to ask myself is if my duty as a physician is to keep my patients alive at all costs, or is it to give them the best quality of life which may include an early exit when their existence becomes unbearable for them. The fact that we're having this conversation should tell you what I think my role is."

"You could lose your license if anyone found out. Hell, Joce, you could go to jail."

"I know that, Len. I know what is at stake. You're father knows what he's asking of me. No one is taking this lightly."

"I don't know, Joce, I need to think, this is all so sudden for me." Len got up from where he sat at the kitchen table and started toward the front of the house. Jim began to follow but sat back down again when Bones shook his head and said quietly that he had to do this on his own.

Jim and Jocelyn sat at the kitchen table but didn't say a word. A few minutes later, the beginning strains of Rachmaninoff's "Prelude" came wafting out of the front room.

"He certainly knows how to make sure that I won't come after him," Jim said with just the slightest touch of humour.

"What do you mean?"

"I hate this piece. Bones used to play this whenever he needed to think and he wanted me to keep my distance."

Jocelyn nodded, but didn't say anything.

Bones wasn't halfway through it when he stopped and then there was a jumble of notes that sounded as if he were pounding his fists on the keyboard. Seconds later it was quiet, and then front door slammed. Jim jumped up with the intention of going after him but Jocelyn beat him to the doorway and blocked him.

"No, Jim, he has to do this on his own."

Jim stared her down for what seemed an eternity but eventually he nodded his head and sat down at the table again. He was horrified to realize that the urges that he'd been so wary of and had so far been kept at bay, chose that moment to rear their ugly heads. He wanted something, anything to help calm his nerves, and he started to fidget. It would be so easy to sneak up to David's room and pilfer something from the locked box of medications that was kept out of sight in his closet, which Jim wasn't supposed to know where it was, but did anyway. Jocelyn must have noticed because she asked him if he was all right.

Jim thought of lying to her, but realized that that was the first step back to the hell that he'd hopefully left behind him.

"No, not really," he answered truthfully. "We knew it was a risk coming here, that it might be too much for me to handle, and that seems to be the case right now."

"Jim. How would you have felt if you weren't here for Len? If you'd stayed in New York where it was safe?" Jocelyn asked him.

"Got news for ya, Joce, New York is anything but safe."

"Perhaps, but you choose to live there anyways. Besides that, you know exactly what I mean. Sure, you're taking a risk being here, but you're doing what you need to do. Don't doubt that. So you're feeling a bit stressed right now and want to reach for something. You're not, and I don't believe you would."

At this point in the conversation Nyota and Spock walked into the kitchen and Jim was quite willing to let the whole matter drop. His friends weren't, though; they'd overheard enough to know that Jim was in some sort of peril.

Jocelyn relayed the events of the afternoon and, though Spock and Nyota had been with him every step of the way through his recovery, he was still surprised that together their reaction was one of support and not scorn. They both reiterated what Jocelyn had said about his reaction being a normal one to the stress he was under, but that he was doing the right thing in talking about what he was thinking.

"Yeah, but here I am making this about me, when we're supposed to be here for Bones."

"Leonard is not here right now, and you need us," Spock said.

"You're a good friend, don't doubt that, Jim, and you're stronger than you think," Nyota patted his hand. "The fact that you're here talking to us instead sneaking up into David's room, is a testament to that."

"Well, I'll have to take your word on that, because right now I don't feel so strong."

"I agree with Nyota, Jim," Spock said seriously. "And when have you ever known me to be wrong?"

Jim couldn't help the weak laugh that escaped him at that. "Not in the recent past, that's for sure."

"And, I'm not - we," he corrected, "are not wrong now, Jim."

"Okay, okay, you're right," Jim conceded. And the funny thing was, he no longer felt the urge to go and get high. He was astounded at how fast the feeling had passed once he vocalised what was on his mind. He was still nervous and worried about Bones, and his pacing of the kitchen just about drove Jocelyn, Nyota, and Spock bananas, but his concern was now focused on Bones and what he could do for him, not on himself.

Bones walked through the back door into the kitchen an hour or so after running out the front. "I need to go see my dad," he said quietly as he walked towards the stairs.

"Do you want me to come with you?" Jim asked.

"Thanks, but no. This is something I need to do on my own." Bones voice cracked, and then he disappeared up the stairs.

Jim resumed his pacing and widened his area to all of the downstairs rooms, stopping at every turn to stare up the staircase. To this day Jim had no idea what Bones did in the time that he was gone, or what had passed between him and his father. He'd asked once, but Bones had said that it was between the two of them, and Jim had had to accept that. What he did know is that when Bones came downstairs again he wasn't as conflicted as he had been earlier, and that he'd decided to go along with his father's wishes.

Later that evening Jocelyn administered a fatal dose of morphine into his IV drip, and David McCoy never regained consciousness.

****

Jim was surprised to find his cheeks wet as he drifted back to the present. He hadn't thought about that time with David in ages. He was very grateful that he wouldn't have to make any similar decisions about Bones.

After David's funeral, Jim had to get back to New York, and finish up post-production on GROpe's new album and then start the whole publicity and tour thing. Bones stayed down in Georgia just long enough to pack up the house and make arrangements for somebody to be caretaker of the place. He had no intention of living there, and yet he didn't feel comfortable selling it, as it had been in his family for generations. He'd said that one day he might make it a vacation home, but at that moment in time the house was the last place he wanted to be, and he felt no affinity with the people there, so he, too, made his way back to New York.

The fear that Jim had harboured that their new friendship would dissipate once Bones' crisis was over never happened. In fact it strengthened even more. They'd spent even more time getting to know each other better and they became real friends again, and not just someone to lean on in bad times – face to face when they were in the city at the same time and over the phone when they weren't. Bones seemed to be coping as well as could be expected, and though he'd only carried out his father's wishes, it seemed that he bore quite a bit of guilt in the early days. Jim was sure that during that time Bones was drinking heavily, and he kept a close watch for signs that it was getting out of control. Luckily, that phase seemed to pass on its own, especially when Bones was able to pick up some work to compose the music for a movie.

It wasn't until eight months or so later that Jim and Bones finally decided to try again. The moment wasn't earth-shattering, or the stuff of romantic novels. They'd been hanging out in Bones' townhouse playing Vivaldi's "Prelude," just like they had that November afternoon in Bones' room so many years before, when he stopped dead and just stared at Jim for the longest time. When Jim finally noticed that he wasn't being accompanied, he asked if he'd been doing something wrong, or wondered if he had something on his face since Bones was looking at him so funny.

"No, it's not that," Bones answered and then he shifted and squirmed on the piano bench as if he were embarrassed, or scared about something.

"What, then?" Jim started to feel nervous because of Bones' demeanour.

"What do you think about trying again?" Bones asked in a rush.

"Trying again?" Jim asked, sounding very perplexed, because even though he was still utterly and madly in love Bones and they were very good friends again, he wasn't going to let himself get his hopes up. He wouldn't allow himself to believe that after everything that he'd done Bones would even want to have that kind of relationship with him again.

 

"Yeah, you and me--like this" Jim hadn't noticed that Bones was crossing the floor until he was kneeling right in front of him and, after taking Jim's guitar out of his hands and laying it on the sofa beside him, Bones leaned in to kiss him.

Seems he was wrong. Jim sighed around Bones' lips. It felt like coming home, but he had to ask, he needed to be positive. "Are you sure about this, Bones?"

"Yeah," he answered without hesitation. "I'm not a fool Jim. Well maybe I am where you're concerned, but you've changed, grown up, and despite everything, I find that I want you in my life, by my side as my partner, and not just as my friend."

When they kissed again it was anything but chaste. Jim threaded his fingers into Bones' hair, and forced (but not really) his tongue into Bones' mouth. Soon the two of them had lowered themselves onto the floor and were making out like a couple of teenagers who couldn't get enough of each other. The sex happened so fast that Jim was hardly aware that they'd even got their clothes off — the need to be inside of Bones was so strong. The second time was much more leisurely, and upstairs in Bones' bed. At first Jim explored every inch of Bones' body, and then Bones did the same; it ended with him taking Jim long and slow, and then the two of them fell asleep wrapped around each other.

The memories of that night made Jim feel the ghost of arousal, but the strain of the last fourteen hours or so was too much for him to actually get a full-on erection. Not that he'd do anything about it, even if he could. He had a feeling that he'd be waiting until Bones was out of hospital.

Jim finally put the letters back in the box and returned it to its spot on Bones' dresser and then laid down to try and sleep for real this time. As he did his mind wandered again. Though they'd gotten back together, the last ten years hadn't been all sunshine and roses, and he wasn't sure that he would have wanted them to be. For the longest time, Bones had trust issues that would rear their ugly head every now and again. Sometimes it happened right out of the blue, and at other times Jim could see where they were coming from, especially when he'd be overly friendly with a female fan. As much as it had hurt him, Jim had known that it would be a long time before he'd have Bones' complete trust again. In the end it had just come down to Jim living his life as a faithful partner. Actions speak louder than words, so they say, and after years of Jim being where he said he was going to be, when he said he was going to be there, and if his plans changed he'd let Bones know, had gone a long way to fixing that blight on their relationship. Also, he'd been completely faithful to Bones since the day they got back together, and now he couldn't imagine screwing around, even when he was on the road. He was confident in the fact that Bones' trust in him came easy now.

Jim had stayed clean since he'd been out of rehab. It hadn't been easy and, over the years, there had been one or two close calls when he'd almost given into the stress of the moment. He hadn't though; basically it had simply come down to him making the choice not to go down that road again. He had a strong support network which he was smart enough to utilize when needed. It truly was one day at a time. He was afraid to think of how he might have coped if Bones hadn't pulled through, and if the prognosis wasn't so good. Jim knew that things still could go wrong, but for now he kept the faith that Bones was going to be just fine.

 

1998 – Carnegie Hall 

Jim and Bones stood waiting in the wings with their fingers entwined. Jim felt a tug at his heart when a spotlight focused on the concert grand on the left side of the stage. Seconds later another light skated across the stage, coming to a stop in front of, and just off to the left of the of the piano. Illuminated in its circle was a folding wooden chair and two guitars on stands. One was a fairly new, custom Martin acoustic, and the other was a well loved, gently worn, candy apple red Fender Stratocaster.

The hush of the crowd was charged and Jim was vibrating in excitement. There was a nervous energy rolling off of Bones as he fidgeted and pulled at his coat with his free hand. When they were finally introduced, Jim and Bones stepped out onto the stage together with their fingers still entwined.

"Next time we do this Bones, you're coming on with GROpe," Jim whispered as they crossed the stage together.

"Yeah, I'd like that," Bones squeezed Jim's hand one last time, and brought it to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on his knuckles before he left him with his guitars and walked around to take his place at the piano.

**Fin**


End file.
